


A Blooming of the Heart

by MahJeevas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addicted Harry Potter, Angst and Romance, Animagus Harry Potter, Based on a Tumblr Post, Benedictus Curse, Betaed, Black Harry Potter, Blood Curses, Brazilian Folklore, Brazilian Harry Potter, Brazilian Wizarding World, Brazilian!Harry Potter, Bullying, Canon Related, Castelobruxo, Cursed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Draco Malfoy has a Blood Curse, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Draco Malfoy with flower tattoo, Dumbledore's Army, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Harry Potter wants to help, Harry is a Tease, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, I am trying to make them as canon as possible, Korean Theodore Nott, Korean!Theodore Nott, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mentions of Past Violence During the Second War, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Multi, Multiple Pairings, My First Work in This Fandom, POC Harry Potter, POC Theodore Nott, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Harry, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Revised Version, Slow Build Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Slow Romance, Slytherins has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Switch Draco Malfoy, Switch Harry Potter, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Work In Progress, Worried Harry Potter, cat animagus, everybody has PTSD, slow healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahJeevas/pseuds/MahJeevas
Summary: This is the final year at Hogwarts. The Second Wizarding War had changed them all. Harry Potter is trying to cope with everything that has happened at the same time he tries to deal with a potion addiction and with the fact he’s still alive. To top it all, things in Hogwarts are not going well. How Harry will deal - or avoid dealing - with a post-war life? And how will Harry react when he becomes aware Draco's life is in a race against the clock?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 37
Kudos: 102





	1. We're not who we used to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoveZiam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveZiam/gifts).



> Hi, there! This is finally betaed! I wish to thank my dear Em, who worked over my messy writing, as well as Sandy. Without them, I'd be nothing. Thank you, guys!  
> A major thank you to [fae-vorite](https://fae-vorite.tumblr.com/), the one that inspired me with a prompt/challenge she made on her tumblr post! You can find the arts she made, in which I based the fanfic on [here](https://fae-vorite.tumblr.com/post/620839859761856512), [here](https://fae-vorite.tumblr.com/post/620861931490852864) and [here](https://fae-vorite.tumblr.com/post/621851533625229312).  
> This fanfic was also written as a birthday gift for [doveziam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoveZiam/pseuds/DoveZiam), the loveliest Drarry fan I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing in my entire fandom life!  
> Also, I want to thank veryfangurl for the support and for helping me with some writing problems! You're the best!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The post-war life of the Wizarding World and its Saviour.

> _The flower is_  
>  the stem’s cry of beauty  
>  to the universe.  
>  – **Vassilis** **Comporozos**

Harry’s mind ran amok as he walked to the dungeons with Ron and Hermione for his Potions class, thinking about everything, and consequently _nothing_ , at the same time. After going through so much, the dull routine left him feeling restless, like he was losing time by not focussing on what was happening around him, or missing opportunities by not being aware of people’s struggles. Harry felt like an arsehole for not paying attention to other people’s lives, too. Was he trying to compensate by thinking, analysing, and feeling everything _at once_ after his encounter with death? Was Harry considering that if he didn’t pay enough attention, he’d miss witnessing a good moment or an opportunity to help someone in need? Or was that a side-effect of the potions he took?

After the Second Wizarding War, it became normal for Harry’s mind to fixate on small things that had happened over the past year. The colour of Ginny’s hair during Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Ron’s brand new scars, Hermione’s “mudblood” one. How Dobby’s voice sounded when he was happy. The Grey Lady’s somber expression while she told him about her tragic story. Fred’s post-mortem smile.

Some days, Harry couldn’t help but focus on the big things that happened. While sitting at night in his common room, he remembered every detail and every word Dumbledore spoke in King’s Cross. Harry would sit motionless, his green eyes fixed on something, like the movement of a quill, but unfocussed. The only thing he focussed on was the experiences in his mind. Specifically, how Snape’s memories touched him profoundly. Harry had learned many things with those memories in the Pensieve. The ones Snape gave to him before he died from Nagini’s bites. And the more Harry raked his mind, overanalysing things he saw during his whole life, the more he ended up learning how nothing was black and white.

Sirius had been right about the world not being divided into good people and Death Eaters.

Because of Snape, the world seemed grey nowadays. And Harry wasn’t just thinking about the weather. Before, he could distinguish between good things and bad things, but now, everything seemed quite… morally grey. When his mind wasn’t going mad with so many thoughts and images, he could look at people. Everyone was touched by war. Smiles were there, but not as wide as they had been in the past. Even though people knew there was nothing wrong in trying to heal, laughing sometimes felt like mocking. Like anybody that dared be happy was insulting the lives lost in the war.

By looking at people, Harry could see things he never truly saw in the past. What dark thoughts must be hidden behind Lavender’s heavy layers of makeup? Did Dean Thomas’ loud laughter conceal his terror at being a target of Voldemort’s followers? Was Hermione and Ron’s clinginess to each other, kissing like air wasn’t needed any longer, just a way of coping with the fear of imminent death that was deeply rooted inside them from last year?

 _All those eyes, and smiles, and voices – behind them all were, deeply hidden, internal horrors that could not be forgotten?_ Harry wondered, while staring at the sunken-eyed Ravenclaw from across the hallway, if they had blood on their hands. How many of these _children_ have had to kill? A flash of green caught his attention, and he focussed on the Slytherins that were waiting outside Slughorn’s room. How many of them lost their parents? _How many of them had to fight their parents?_ Harry suddenly realised that he had always been biased about the Slytherins.

To him, it was _obvious_ what one should do in some situations. Dark Wizards? You fought them, no matter what. McGonagall herding most of the Slytherins to the dungeons while the Battle was raging was completely justifiable. It was only later that it dawned on him what was _really_ obvious. If it was James and Lily fighting on the wrong side, would Harry have had enough strength to fight them? Risk killing them? With dawning horror, Harry realised that this is what all the Slytherins had been thinking about while they hid in the dungeons that horrible night.

Ron turned his head and began talking to him, but Harry couldn’t for the life of him focus on what it was. Harry’s mind was occupied with much more important dilemmas. 

_Am I trying to not miss anything, now that I’m alive? Is being alive and free enough?_ Harry wondered. The answers did not come easily.

He leaned against the wall, glancing around at the other students also waiting for Slughorn to open the door. Harry picked at his slightly cracked nails, drawing blood. The pain was a reminder that he was still alive, that he could still feel things. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with musty air, his eyes unfocussed, unseeing. It was so satisfying, doing that slowly. Right now, the experience would’ve been better with fresh air, but Harry would have to be content with breathing in this mouldy air of the dungeons. He picked harder at his nails.

Harry missed the precious oxygen filling his lungs to the limit, then slowly exhaling. It was pleasurable. Never in his life would he have thought he would be so conscious of breathing. Of the pleasure to-

 _“What?”_ Harry heard the unmistakable drawling voice and blinked several times to refocus his vision. It was Malfoy, his tone clearly guarded.

Harry noticed, then, that his eyes had somehow locked on Malfoy. It wasn't his intention to look at him, as Harry had been much more focussed on his own breathing.

Harry hadn't registered the thorns before, but upon closer look he noticed them crawling out from beneath Malfoy’s clothes a moment later. Right. The thorns were a clear sign that Malfoy was feeling really threatened. Before, Malfoy had always been an attention seeker. Now, Harry wondered if Malfoy felt threatened by the attention. _Do you hate it, now you're in the spotlight for being_ _infamous?_ After the Trials at the Wizengamot, everybody ended up having a bad opinion about the Malfoys _even_ after all was explained. Harry had testified on behalf of Draco and his mother, but some things could not be forgotten. Lucius Malfoy had done enough to disgrace his family’s name to affect his son. _I guess Draco hadn’t come out unscathed after all. Not even with my help.._.

Rita Skeeter had happily torn the Malfoy name apart, and Harry knew from Hermione’s comments that Skeeter was ecstatic by Harry Potter’s defence of the Malfoy family. Hermione had said Skeeter had written about him for _days_. 

_Back to the present…_ Harry chided himself. Malfoy had spoken quite loudly. Harry noticed the other students start whispering to each other, and it dawned on him they were expecting a Malfoy-Potter showdown to happen right this moment.

Harry stood still. Yet Malfoy felt threatened.

“ _What_ , Potter?” Malfoy drawled again, shrinking into himself as if he was trying to blend into the wall somehow.

Instead of puncturing or tearing Malfoy’s clothes, the stems crawled from his wrists and enveloped his body from head to toe. The stems extended all around to better shield him, and Malfoy ended up looking like he wore a body armour made of rose stems. The thorns were silver, pointy and sharp.

“N-nothing,” Harry quickly answered. “It’s nothing. I wasn’t actually looking at you.”

The thorns weren’t new to Harry, yet he was always mesmerised by them as if he was seeing them for the first time.

Throughout his seven years at Hogwarts, Harry had grown accustomed to seeing Malfoy surrounded by thorns, the stems tightly twining along his body like a shield. Harry always ended up with torn clothes and skin covered in scratches and punctures from those sharp thorns. He remembered that every time he brawled with Malfoy, he would later have to be healed by Madam Pomfrey. In his first year, being as clueless about the Wizarding World as he was, Harry didn’t know why the hell Draco Malfoy had thorns on his body. Ron had had to explain to him that Draco Malfoy suffered from an ancient blood curse.

Harry was shaken from his thoughts and brought back to the present, realising that Malfoy was still staring hard at Harry. Harry awkwardly dropped his gaze, leaving Malfoy alone as he didn’t want to bother him.

“Hello, hello! You can all come inside,” Slughorn suddenly exclaimed from the doorway.

Everybody walked in, talking in hushed tones. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat at their usual place.

“You alright, mate?” Ron said, looking worried. Harry nodded with a smile, trying to reassure his best friend that everything was fine.

“Don’t worry. I was just lost in my head.”

Hermione glanced his way, looking as worried as Ron. Before she could say anything, Harry added “I am fine, and I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“Right... But if you-” Hermione started.

“I’m not having a panic attack, Hermione. Calm down.”

Slughorn began talking at the front, preventing Hermione and Ron from prodding him further. He silently thanked Slughorn for the momentary peace. Harry understood their concern, but really, it’s been _weeks_ since he last had an episode. There was nothing that had triggered him today, he was just absorbed in thoughts. Just that.

* * *

_Malfoy had a blood curse similar to a Maledictus. The Malfoy family carried the Benedictus Curse. It wasn’t as scary as the Maledictus, since Draco Malfoy would never turn into a flower, but it was still bad._

_“_ _The Curse is more connected to emotions than anything else”, Ron explained to him in their first year. “From what Percy has told me, the Benedictus Curse is passed down from father to son. Unlike the Maledictus, where you only discover the person has it if they turn in front of you, the Benedictus is visually permanent.” At Harry’s confused look, Ron continued. “It looks like a tattoo. Goes from the back of their head, around their torso and down their arms and legs. It’s common to be flowers of every variety mingled with stems.”_

_“So, the Curse is just a tattoo?” Hermione said, looking baffled._

_“No! It’s more, hm... The drawing can magically come to life. Like, if they’re in danger the person gets covered in leaves and thorns. Or if they’re happy, they sprout certain types of flowers.”_

_“So, quite useful,” Harry deadpanned, picking at his newly-healed scratches from his latest fight with Malfoy._

_“It’s apparently a revenge curse. It’s rumoured that the curse originated when a woman cast it against a man for bewitching her into thinking he loved her. Or whatever, I don’t_ _remember the details, but feelings are not visible, you know that.” Ron explained. “So the bearer of the Curse has his feelings displayed. Happiness might bloom into roses; sadness into dead leaves, and so on. It depends on the person, apparently. Percy said that the book he read had a very handy list of floriography that could help one interpret the types of flowers and what they meant.”_

_“Basically, wearing your heart on your sleeve, but with flowers,” Harry said with derision, still not seeing the point of the blood curse._

_“Mate, don’t laugh!”_

_“Well,” began Hermione. “I admit it’s fascinating, but what’s the point of calling it a curse? Curses are much more dark, this just seems a hex that conveniently passes through heritage. Doesn’t seem much like a curse, if you ask me.”_

_“It is a curse, Hermione. People have died because they couldn’t control their feelings. Too much sadness and the dead leaves can sprout from your skin not magically, like from the tattoos, but by splitting one’s skin apart from everywhere. Too much anger and the thorns can puncture your heart, or crush your body,” Ron explained. “It’s not harmless!”_

_“Wait, what?” Harry’s eyes were the size of saucers now. The thought of Draco laying dead with a bunch of leaves coming out of his nose or mouth was terrifying. A chill ran down his spine, making him shudder. Hermione seemed to have frozen mid-motion, her hand hovering over her quill._

_“Yup,” Ron made a face, sympathetic to their shock. “The cursed person has to control their emotions. Apparently, only good emotions don’t cause this ‘overdose’, so that’s why they called it_ Benedictus _. It forces someone to feel good, think good, be good, or else they might die. They sprout beautiful flowers, exhale flowery perfume, things like that. But if they get overcome with bad feelings, it might take only months before they’re dead. It is a constant threat to their lives.”_

_That information stuck in the back of his head, ever a subject to ponder over, but never something important enough that would make him read the book Percy had suggested. He didn’t have time to read about some curse. Harry Potter had the whole Wizarding World to save. That was much more pressing than knowing if your arch-nemesis was feeling well._

**

Potions class was dismissed after four long hours. Harry could feel his head pounding from thinking too much. He wanted to become an Auror but his failings in Potions might stop his dream. Ron and Hermione, who had gotten up before Harry, were walking with the mass of students trying to leave the classroom. Harry pulled the strap of his satchel over his shoulder and headed to the door. As he was getting closer to the table where Parkinson, Zabini, and Malfoy sat, he noticed a few dead leaves on the floor. Harry stared at Malfoy’s back while he continued toward the door, and caught sight of a dry, wrinkled leaflet floating down from his sleeve to the floor.

 _Leaves mean sadness_ , Harry recalled. It had a lanceolate shape. The leaflet was linear, serrated, and maroon coloured. That leaflet joined other crunched leaves on the floor, left unnoticed by their creator. All of the air left Harry’s lungs. Malfoy was shedding leaves. Harry quickly gathered a handful, without anyone noticing.


	2. I'm falling again (what if I'm someone I don't want around?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns more about the Blood Curse. Meanwhile, Draco struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay! Just so you guys know, I rewrote a few things after talking and discussing with my beta reader, so I suggest you to give a quick read on chapter one just to not miss anything! Sorry!
> 
> Oh, and thank you for all the lovely comments! You all give me life <3  
> Quick note: Sandy, you ROCK!

> _The rose that blushes rosy red,  
>  _ _She must hang her head;  
>  _ _The lily that blows spotless white,  
>  _ _She may stand upright._
> 
> _– The Rose That Blushes Rosy Red_ , **Christina Rossetti**

Draco’s grey eyes were fixed at the cloth that covered his four-poster bed. The fabric was soft to the touch, so much that it comforted him when he couldn’t sleep, like _now_. His long fingers grazed lightly against the long green curtains that shielded him from the other boys in the dormitory.

The green fabric also covered the top of his bed, making Draco feel protected from prying, judgemental eyes. As it was his eighth year at Hogwarts – and his last one – and, as many seventh-year students had to come back to complete their graduation, the eighth years were separated from other houses.

Draco had always been proud about how the Slytherin House had such a majestic common room and dormitories. Now, they weren’t in the dungeons anymore. Draco was now forced to share a common room with Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The dorm was a show of colours, each bed sheet and curtains the colour of the person’s house. There wasn’t a predominant colour in the common room anymore, instead everything was black with a few personal touches the students were allowed to add to the decorations.

Only the bedrooms contained their house colours. In his room, Draco could listen to Finnegan’s soft snores, Finch-Fletchley’s incoherent mumbling and Boot’s... quite telling noises. Creaking noises. _Wait, no. Not only creaking._ Draco could hear Macmillan’s poorly concealed moans from beside his bed. Moaning. _Boot_ was wanking from one side of the room while _Macmillan_ was wanking on the opposite side. _Oh, that’s fucking brilliant._

“Oi, for fuck’s sake!” He threw the curtains open, got his mother’s wand and aimed at the yellow curtains next to his. _“Abaffiato!”_ he cast at the curtains, and heard a surprised yelp from behind them before everything became silent again. “Do I need to spell your fucking curtains for you too, Boot?” His voice rose to the point where Finnegan’s snores became quiet. “Have you got no shame nor respect for insomniacs in this blasted castle?”

A long sigh. A snort. Then, Terry Boot cursed a blue streak after getting caught. Finnegan peeked from behind his red curtains.

“I am _so_ _sorry_ , mate! I thought I was keeping it quiet,” Boot groaned. “And it never crossed my mind that I had an audience listening to me wank.”

“Not an audience. _I_ didn’t choose to listen to you horny fucks,” Draco hissed, closing his curtains and throwing himself face first onto his soft pillow.

He heard Boot’s cussing one more time, before everything went quiet; Finnegan apparently deemed the whole thing unworthy of his time and fell back asleep in a heartbeat. Draco wished he could sleep as easily as him. Envy squeezed at his heart. Now, dreamless sleep was only possible using potions.

Draco stopped, feeling the entire process. He felt the soft petal that used his magic to spring into reality. The way it slowly took form and space, sprouting from his skin. He groaned and sat up, plucking out the yellow carnation petal from his neck before it fell.

Yellow carnation. Disappointment or rejection. _Definitely disappointment, as I can’t bloody close my eyes in fear of nightmares even if my life depended on it._ Draco vanished the petal with a flick of his wand. Then, he curved in on himself. The blond let out a long sigh. “That’s better... _Lumos.”_

Draco’s wrist was close enough for him to see every detail of the yellow carnations that covered his pale skin in intricate drawings. They were on the verge of sprouting, but did not. They could be expelled from his body, of course, when feelings were unbearable, but usually they stayed like that, as tattoos that moved lazily along his skin. The carnations weren’t a beautiful shade of yellow, though; more like a taupe. Draco didn’t have to look under his clothes to know his body was full of stems and dead leaves – _always dead leaves_ – of carnations curling around his legs, arms, torso – everywhere. The petals were small, delicate looking. Draco knew why they were small. That emotion wasn’t as intense as the raw horror that shook him to his core to the point of awakening some minutes ago.

The soft light from his wand casts grim shadows over the asphodel petals, causing them to look grey rather than white. They were close to the bottom of the bedpost, where he had kicked them away from him.

Draco had shed countless asphodels after his nightmare about Crabbe. It was a very vivid one, as if Draco were again in the Room of Requirement. The Fiendfyre was licking and destroying everything, and he could feel the scorching heat of the flames that almost took his life. In the dream, Draco saw every little bit of what happened to Crabbe as he died. The skin searing, then combusting. It started to melt off his bones, then the flames took his organs and-

 _Breathe. Fucking breathe, goddammit!_ Draco knew the other boys could hear his laboured breathing, trying to control the full-body shudder that assaulted him. Goosebumps were running up his arms and spine, setting his hairs on end.

Draco was used to it. It has been years since he first saw the flowers that covered his skin bloom. The buds were finely drawn against the pale canvas of his skin, and in bland colours rather than lively. Draco remembered it was in sixth year the dead petals started to appear. Everywhere he went, there were flower petals falling to the floor. Besides having to clean up after himself constantly, the smell of rotten flowers made him sick.

When he Owled his mother, Narcissa became extremely concerned. In her reply, she had written: _‘Draco, it is better to express feelings and deal with them rather than hiding them. Lucius told me how hard it was for_ **_his_ ** _grandfather to understand that. Dominus was always very stubborn in his youth. He’d only deal with his feelings when the symptoms became unbearable. It took Dominus a long time to change his behavior… But it paid off, pumpkin. If the curse wasn’t a mortal condition, he’d have been fine. Dominus was the oldest curse-carrier to ever live, remember? He only conquered that after learning to sort out his inner turmoils. Only that can control the symptoms.’ Narcissa’s_ handwriting had been messy, bordering on incomprehensible _._

Draco had been shedding different flowers, and since he had the book that mentioned the curse memorised, he knew what each petal meant. That’s how he was working on his feelings. Well, he tried. Draco had only ceased to shed a miscellaneous of decrepit petals – deadly nightshades, geraniums, petunias, and marigolds – when Dumbledore fell off the Astronomy Tower.

Falsehood, for lying himself raw. Stupidity, for failing his every attempt at murdering Dumbledore and hurting innocent people. Resentment and anger, for so many things he couldn’t even list. Grief, for the loss of his past life, of his home, of his school. That’s what the flowers told him.

It was quite difficult, being in the same house with the Dark Lord _and_ having to deal with his Curse. But he had managed and survived. He wasn’t a bad person for trying to save his family from the wrath of the Dark Lord and the subsequent disgrace. He didn’t even kill Dumbledore.

 _No, but I led a bunch of murderers to the Tower to do the job for me if I failed_ , he thought bitterly. Drowned in desperation, Draco couldn’t see clearly. His mind was running rampant for solutions, and he chose the easiest ones. They weren’t the best ones, though.

So, to live he had to endure his feelings. Shame, fear, pain. Feel them all. Live with his choices and understand that what he did in the past was just that: the past. He now has a chance for a new present and an unknown future ahead.

Draco was terrified of living and dealing with the aftermath of his choices, though. That’s why, after Dumbledore, he only had marigold leaves and stems covering his body. The live buds that progressively withered and, after falling from his skin, emitted a stench of decay.

Draco gasped and suddenly bolted to the bathroom to throw up every content in his stomach. After a few gulps of breath, he noticed the door was open and went to close it by leaning on it with his back.

“C’mon, you bastard,“ he slid to the floor, tiredly resting his head against the dark wood. “Don’t give up now.”

Draco was sweating profusely, and from time to time he would shiver from the cold air against his damp skin.

“You had six months before the flowers came in sixth year,” Draco mumbled incoherently, “It took the asphodels one year to come out. You can make them go away again, so don-“

It was as if there were ghostly fingers touching his skin, vicious claws closing on his limbs to try and drag him to the Other Side to quench their thirst for revenge. _Dumbledore wants me to pay._

That horrendous thought made him tremble. Draco felt the bitter taste of bile rise. He had mere seconds to reach the toilet. He gasped desperately for air.

The stench of death rose from the withered asphodel petals that sprouted from his tattooed skin and fell down his body, out of his pyjamas and ended up on the floor. He flushed the toilet while tears began running down his pale cheeks.

Draco wasn’t ready to deal with the aftermath.

It would be a long, and lonely, night.

**

“Morning, Draco!” Pansy chirped the next morning, sitting beside him at the Great Hall table and leaning in to peck his cheek. “Love the skeleton look you are sporting today!”

Blaise clicked his tongue, brushing an unruly white lock away from Draco’s eye. “Tone down the bitchy attitude, Pans. He’s-”

“Shove it, Parkinson.”

It came out so harsh that even Blaise flinched away from him, before composing himself and censuring Pansy with a nasty look. “Now you’ve done it. He was quiet and pliant before you stormed in. You happy, now?”

Draco curved his shoulders in, lowering his head and focussing on his breakfast.

“Sorry, D,” Pansy said softly, her black wide eyes trained on him with regret. “Was just trying to lighten things up.”

Blaise’s face was still tight with concern. Draco sighed, letting his fork clatter on the plate. Blaise braced himself, fully prepared to endure a fit.

“I’m sorry, Pans. I didn’t mean to snap. Just tired, that’s all. Not in the mood to banter today,” he dropped his forehead on his hands with as much dignity as possible. _As if there’s any left in me._

“How bad was it?” Blaise asked tactfully, gently touching Draco’s wrist. Blaise was close enough to see the asphodels marring his pale skin.

“Crabbe-bad.”

At the name, Blaise and Pansy flinched. Draco had only told them at the start of term what had happened. Before that, it was complicated to visit each other and even more to send Owls. Draco couldn’t exchange letters with Blaise and Pansy because the Ministry had confiscated every Owl at Malfoy Manor. The Floo Network had been magically blocked. He and his Mum could only leave if each were accompanied by a pair of Aurors. Apparating was the only thing allowed. Well, side-along Apparating. The Malfoys couldn’t be trusted to not try to Apparate to Merlin-knows-where and evade the Aurors.

Draco and Narcissa had also been obligated to wear silver Admonitors on their left wrists. That way, the Ministry could monitor all their magical activities. Even though she had lent her wand to him, Draco’s mother wasn't useless _at all_. Narcissa Malfoy was quite prolific at wandless magic.

_If I hadn't fucked everything up, I’d still have my wand and Mum wouldn’t have given hers to me._

“Here,” Blaise extended a mug of hot cocoa to Draco, interrupting the blond’s sulking, “this is good for the soul,” he smiled lightly.

Draco thanked him with a small smile of his own and took the mug. He warmed his fingers against the hot transparent surface of the mug.

Draco took a sip and sighed in contentment, closing his eyes to savour the complex taste of the thick liquid. It wasn’t his favourite thing in the world, but it was one of his preferred comfort beverages for shitty days like this.

Pansy and Blaise seemed to slowly relax, seeing Draco enjoying his cocoa.

“Shields down, boy, so I can eat my breakfast before we have to go.” the brunette asked gently, motioning toward Draco’s forearm when he opened his eyes.

“Shit!” Draco hissed, putting his hand on his arm by reflex as if it were the gesture rather than him controlling his own emotions, that would banish the thorns. “Shit!”

“’S okay, darling. You didn’t prick me.” she winked at him, carefully caressing her knuckle against his cheekbone. She didn’t want to get a scratch from the thorns that were twining up to his temples.

Sometimes they grew so close to his skin that Draco himself had to be careful to not end up with slashes across his face and body. Not to mention his clothes, they always had to be repaired with a quick spell every now and then.

It took him a bit, but soon enough only the sharp points of the thorns stayed above his skin. Thankfully, they were too thin to do any damage when they were like that. He adjusted his tie and got back to draining his mug.

Another soft, contented sigh escaped him. He began relaxing on the bench.

 _‘Ten points to Slytherin,’_ she mouthed good-humouredly to Blaise, discreetly raising her own mug in a toast for appeasing Draco’s moodiness. Blaise toasted back, with a smile of his own.

Pansy kept a hand close to Draco’s elbow, and Blaise, an arm slung over Draco’s shoulders. That’s why Draco loved them. The quiet, trusting companionship they displayed by touches or gestures.

He couldn’t have asked for better friends.

**

“What are you doing?”

Harry Potter jumped away from the library shelf and looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. Hermione was at one of the mezzanines in the library, probably searching for a book. Harry blushed at being caught but pretended nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Why, is it suddenly wrong to come down to the library?” He decided on playing dumb, hugging _A Study of Foul Floral Curses_ he had picked from the shelf against his chest.

“You _never_ come to the library unless you’re plotting something,” Hermione pointed out, an eyebrow rising while her piercing brown eyes followed his hands’ motions.

“Am not.”

“You _are_ ,” Hermione accused. With a flick of her wand, the wood ladders magically moved. It slid to where Hermione was, and she came down to the corridor where Harry was.

 _Shit. Can’t do anything alone now, can I?_ Harry thought.

“What are you scheming here, Harry?” Hermione inquired, as bossy as ever. Harry loved her, he truly did, but sometimes Harry just wanted to throttle her for sticking her nose into his business.

“Not scheming anything!” he barked back. Hermione retreated a few steps, and guilt immediately overcame Harry. “Sorry, sorry. I just- I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just wanted to grab a book and leave.”

“Which book?” Hermione inquired, the tension dissipating only a little; her shoulders remained tense, though. Her brown eyes descended to the cover of the book he grabbed and, after reading the title, she opened her mouth indignantly.

“No!”

Harry groaned internally.

“Not what you’re thinking-”

“Harry, you can’t give in to that obsession _again-”_

“I am not-”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to find excuses to not do what Healer Guttier told yo-”

“I am following the list she sent me, Hermione!”

“No, you’re not!” Hermione exploded.

A chorus of “shh” came from everywhere in the library. Harry was caught off guard and winced, making Hermione look at him triumphantly.

“See? You can’t even hear something that sounds like a hiss without you-”

“Hermione, can’t you drop it?” He lost it, then. He slammed the book on his thighs, and the silence in the library made the sound echo throughout the corridor. “I am fine, I am not panicking because I’m thinking there are snakes in here!”

“Harry,” Hermione pleaded. “You have to take care of yourself! You barely talk to us; you’re just lost inside your head most of the time! That is not dealing with anything, it’s just bottling everything up and pretending you are alright _when you are not,_ ” she was on the verge of shouting, but luckily she caught herself and controlled her voice.

“I am not bottling things up, Hermione. I’m just-”

“Yes, you are!”

“Hermione,” Harry shouted to get her attention.

It worked. Then, another round of shushing came, but it was worth it. Hermione remained silent long enough for him to be sure she was actually listening rather than gathering more arguments to shove in his face. “Not everyone copes in the same way, okay?” said Harry. “Guttier told me sometimes people need some introversion time to mull things over. Just calm down and let me be! Ron’s missing you, I bet,” somehow, Harry sounded more wounded than he actually felt. That was a mistake.

Harry knew she would now think he was jealous rather than bothered by the lack of some private time. “If you felt left out, all you had to do was tell us, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him, as expected. Harry sighed.

“I’m alright. I’m marvellous!” He quickly shoved the book under his armpit, walking backwards to try and escape her. “I am totally fine with you lot. Just go kiss and leave me with my book! Quoting you: ‘this is just _light reading’_!”

With that, Harry bolted out of the library, leaving Hermione gaping after him.

* * *

Harry reached the eighth year tower in record time, practically faceplanting on the portrait that guarded their new common room.

“Oi, careful, lad!” The painting of Merlin said, adjusting his pile of books. They had toppled down when Harry had braced his hands on the portrait to soften the collision. “Is there a Grim at your heels?” he chortled.

The man in the portrait resembled Dumbledore in so many ways that Harry felt his heart ache with longing. _Okay, this is not the time to mope around._

“I’m sorry, sir” he panted. “Didn’t mean to mess with your things.”

“Not toworry! These are just books, my lad,” Merlin smiled kindly at him, and that only made him miss Dumbledore even more. “Password?”

“ _Creevey’s camera_ ,” Harry panted. With a bow of his head, Merlin allowed his entry and the portrait swung forward.

“Have a nice evening, lad!”

“You too.”

Harry passed through the pyramidal hole in the wall. Inside, there were only a few people lazing about. The common room was decorated in black to prevent any arguments about one house being favoured over the others, but some things were altered to make it more welcoming to everybody.

Basically, the Merlin Tower was a mixture of all houses. The black-stoned fireplace held the Hogwarts crest above the mantel, and the wall on its right had an enchanted window showing the bottom of the Great Lake. The wall on its left had a floor-to-ceiling window showing a beautiful view of the castle grounds. The inside wall where the Merlin portrait was located had shelves covering every surface, filled to bursting with books.

Plants decorated the room, adding colour that fit perfectly with the mahogany furniture. The high-backed, button tufted, leather sofas were longer to fit more people. Cupboards and tables were scattered around the room.

The Tower had more space than any other common room, and Harry sometimes felt like they had their own personal castle. This was huge, really, and at first, he felt it was unnecessary space, as everyone was accustomed to their common rooms. That had changed when some people started having meltdowns, saying they felt like the walls were closing in on them. McGonagall quickly teamed with Flitwick to magically expand Merlin Tower’s rooms.

The war would never leave them, would it?

Harry quickly climbed the black marble stairs and turned left to the corridor leading to his dormitory. Entering the room, he threw himself on the second bed on the right, where a four-poster bed had crimson curtains pulled back. It was displaying his messy sheets and some scattered clothes. _I’ll have to clean this shit up later or else doxies will start to show up._

Harry sighed, already tired from thinking how long it would take to tidy his part of the dormitory.

For now, Harry just sat on the soft mattress, back against his pillow, and discarded his tie. Harry propped the book on his crossed legs and opened _A Study of Foul Floral Curses,_ by Holly Lungwort.

There were 88 chapters full of information about the most deadly, fascinating anthology of curses Harry had ever read about. Just passing his eyes along the index, he read some interesting names. _Hanahaki Disease_. _Sunflower Jinx. Hemlock Hex. The Curse of the Heart in Thorns_ – that one seemed quite gruesome. _Love-Me-Forever Spell._ Still, none of them was the one he was looking for, so he would have to read them later.

He went to the Curse section, reading the first one: _The Belladonna Blood Curse._ He wondered what that one did... _Nope, carry on,_ Harry thought to himself. At Chapter 74, his finger finally found the one. _The Hereditary Benedictus Curse_.

Harry went to that exact chapter and began to read.

_One of the most interesting and complex curses I had the pleasure of studying: the Benedictus Curse is a mutable one. From all my records, I concluded that the blood type and the portion of magic contained in it can cause mutations on the curse-bearer. The only constant I could find in my research is the hereditary condition in which the curse acts._

_The Benedictus Curse cannot be passed through a female bloodline. Therefore, the ancient magic bound to the bearer’s blood can change the genetic pool to better fulfil the curse’s terms. The child produced from an uncursed and a Benedictus-cursed always has and always will be a male._

_It has also been noted that a curse-bearer’s lifespan goes from 60 to 80 years, as the decrease in health caused by the curse contributes to a short life. Although the Curse can be controlled by investing in mental health, it is a fatal condition._

_There are some discrepancies about the Curse’s origins. Amalia Abbot says in her book_ Wizarding Folk Tales (1288) _that there are ancient scrolls containing a tale about a man that lost his loved one, and his magic became so toxic that it affected his body with an incurable illness._

 _However, A. Fletchley_ (A Brief Outline of Magical Theories, 1786) _tells us about a cave he found in one of his explorations around the Highlands. From magical drawings depicting that scene, there was a statue of a man covered in grass. The statue had its mouth agape, from where blood-red thorns protruded. Fletchley described how the magic was strong in the cave and pulsed as if it were a living heart. It shed life into everything, sprouting variable species of flowers and plants on the ground, species that would be impossible to grow without magical influence._

 _Fortunately, there is one book I found that had quite a fascinating approach on the Curse. Lavinia Lacaille’s_ A Song of Broken Hearts (1875 _) introduces us to old French tales about lovers and unhappy endings. One of the tales, translated as_ A Blooming of the Heart _, tells the story of a very traditional French family whose bloodline was marked by its notorious association with Darkness. The story portrays the romance between Death herself and a Dark wizard named Pictor._

_Pictor was the most handsome wizard in the land of Gourdon, and his beauty enchanted Death while he was tending his garden of roses. The story tells how Pictor became fascinated by Death’s eyes; there were rumours of them being a Hallow that allowed their owner to see the future and all hidden things. Filled with greed, Pictor intended to conquer Death’s love to later steal her Hallow._

_Love, indeed, can make one blind to their beloved’s actions. Death, becoming enamoured beyond belief by the wizard’s charm, was unaware of his plans. One day, Pictor tricked her by imbibing one of his roses with a potent sleeping draught. When Pictor presented a poisoned rose to her, Death closed her eyes in rapture and inhaled. Once she had fallen asleep on the floor, Pictor cut out her eyes: they were white as snow, faceted like diamonds. Death’s eyes transformed into a pair of round gems connected by a fine, black thread. They allowed Pictor to see the future and every invisible thing, indeed. And he knew, right then and there, that if he got caught by Death, she would punish him. So, he fled._

_Eventually, Death awakened. Even blind, she swore to find him and unleash her revenge on him for breaking her heart. Many years later, following the withering thread of a woman she had to reap, Death encountered her former lover. Pictor lived in Wiltshire and was standing at the bed of a witch that was currently dying from dragon pox._

_The wizard saw Death, and he pleaded for her mercy, to be taken in his wife’s place. Death retrieved her eyes but transfigured one into a flower. A single rose with dark petals and silver thorns. It entered Pictor’s heart, soul, and magic. Death left the wizard and his now-cured wife, both of them thinking Pictor’s treason was pardoned. But it was not._

_Soon after, Pictor would find his son was born cursed with tattooed flowers in his skin. The trickster would also discover_ himself _cursed as well. Pictor became the first bearer of the Benedictus Curse. Pictor died with a bouquet of black roses sprouting from his heart. Later, he became known as_ Pictor, the Unfaithful _._

 _To be a researcher is to consider all possibilities, being them probable or not. As a child, I’ve listened many times to the stories in_ The Tales of Beedle the Bard. _All of them stuck with me as a precious memory of childhood, of course, but as I encountered_ A Blooming of the Heart, _I could not impede myself from connecting this story to_ The Tale of the Three Brothers. _It is also a tale about three wizards tricking death and conquering precious artefacts…_

Harry stopped reading. He immediately became aware he was breathing heavily. Then, he noticed he was also sweating. _The Three Brothers_ … He held those memories of the tale closely to the haunted memories around his Horcrux hunt. They weren’t very pleasant ones, especially because Harry had one Hallow in his hand before he had surrendered himself to Voldemort.

Harry remembered, then, his parents. The trembling began to diminish. Harry closed his eyes and pictured his mother. The shape of her face, the exact shade of her hair. How his father’s cheeks dimpled when he smiled. How both of their voices sounded while they tried to calm him… The gentleness in how they reassured Harry about accompanying him until the very end. That everything would be alright now that they were finally reunited.

Two more faces flashed before his mind’s eye. How young Remus was in his last apparition. Sirius, too. How painfully _young_ all four of them were in the afterlife...

“Remus…”

Oh, Remus... Remembering Remus became too painful. Harry saw Remus’ eyes in Teddy’s. The shape of Remus’ face, as well. Harry’s beloved godson, the little turquoise-haired baby that adored flying around on his small broomstick... Teddy had the most wonderful laugh, as most children did. Sadness had not touched his innocent soul yet. Teddy didn’t know how much he had lost at such a young age.

“He’s too pure, too good to have such a fate,” Harry said, his voice breaking with emotion. He thanked Merlin that he was alone.

Harry felt hot, fat tears trickling down his cheeks. “Remus…” He sobbed, covering his face with his hands. “Ted-” he hiccupped, doubling over until he was in a foetal position. The book became trapped in between his chest and thighs, but Harry was in no condition to care.

Harry heard footsteps from outside. Panicking, he did the only thing he knew would help him, more than being found in such a state. He wasn’t in the mood to be coddled. He just needed to let it all out and not have somebody looking scared at the way he expressed his grief.

Harry’s body became small in a heartbeat, and by the time Ron opened the door for him and the other boys behind him to enter, Harry was a huge black cat bolting through their legs.

Harry ran until he was hidden by the Forest, and once there he finally gave in to the pain. It felt as if his soul was splitting in half.

* * *

By dinner time, Harry was more or less composed.

He had the book propped on his thighs while he ate slowly, savouring the rich flavours of the food. It was as if many things had different tastes now. Harry didn’t remember ever eating something with that particular level of richness at the Great Hall.

Or maybe he was just overreacting. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, and they weren’t marvelling at the food. It was a good thing he wasn’t moaning at every bite like the first day of the term. That day, everybody had looked at Harry as if he had grown a second head. Better to conceal, although it was quite difficult to contain his joy.

 _So fucking good!_ Harry thought for the umpteenth time, eating a spoonful of stew.

When he looked up, Hermione’s eyes met his. Harry quickly returned to the book. He was already four pages in. The Benedictus Curse was really a fascinating one, although it was quite gruesome. Holly Lungwort was quite a detailed writer; some cases she described had forced Harry to stop reading, sensing his lunch was threatening to return.

Right now, though, it was safe. Harry was reading Lungwort’s discourse about how she thought the Death from _The Tale of the Three Brothers_ was somehow linked to the one in _A Blooming of the Heart_. It was quite interesting to see Lungwort conclude that the Benedictus Curse derived from the possession of a modified Deathly Hallow. Except for the Cloak of Invisibility, all the Hallows had been produced by Death in an attempt to trick their owners into their graves early. Therefore, Lungwort had a theory about the fourth Hallow passing by blood so the wizards would be led to gruesome ends as sacrifices to quench Death’s thirst for revenge.

The Cloak could be passed on without repercussions. Harry agreed, as there was no record nor suspicions about his family members dying _because_ they were in possession of the Cloak. Lungwort believed that the Benedictus Curse would be cured if one acted as the third brother had done. By accepting death as a friend, not a foe.

Harry frowned. _How that might work in Malfoy’s case?_

In another section, Lungwort began to discourse about the blooming flowers that would appear in the cursed wizard’s skin. Positive emotions could make the buds, whichever type of flower they might be, to bloom beautifully. As the Curse did not have a cure, it was advised to maintain the curse-bearer loved, well-cared for and protected. The healthier the state of mind, the longer they’d live.

Harry had to close the book to ponder on that. His eyes rose on their own volition until they found Malfoy at the Slytherin table. Even from a distance, Harry could see the greyish colour of his skin. The bruise-like bags under his eyes. How his white-blond hair fell dishevelled on his forehead.

Malfoy appeared too thin, evident by the large cuff sleeves; they did not conceal Malfoy's bony wrists well. Malfoy was more relaxed now in comparison to the way he was at breakfast; his tie remained on his shoulder, unknotted. The top buttons on the collar of his shirt were unfastened, revealing his Adam’s apple and partially his collarbone. They were too prominent.

Harry took another bite of his stew and chewed slowly. _The healthier the mind, the longer they’d live…_ He saw Blaise Zabini, a guy notoriously serious, enchanting the spoons at the table to march to Draco’s plate to prank him. The spoons were trying to steal whatever Malfoy was eating. Right at that moment, Harry saw how Malfoy battled against them by using his fork as a ‘sword’.

Zabini’s efforts seemed to pay off because his prank brought a small smile to Malfoy’s face. Harry concluded Malfoy was laughing by the way his shoulders shook slightly. The blond also shook his head, as if he’d found ridiculous what Blaise was doing. Unfortunately, Harry was too far away to actually hear anything.

It lasted for mere seconds but Draco’s expression seemed less gloomy, which was a good thing.

Harry reopened the book, then searched the pocket in his trousers. Harry carefully raised the leaves he had picked up off the Potions room floor. They were quite wrinkled, and some of them were too dry and ended up crumbling inside his pocket. Harry chose the most intact leaf and put it into a red square on the first page of the floriography glossary.

The square glowed briefly, and much like Riddle's diary; red letters began to appear on the bottom of the square. _Marigold (Bonanza type)._ Harry went to the floriography section which listed flowers beginning with M. Harry put his finger on the page after finding the exact type, and read: _Grief, Despair, Jealousy._

Harry smiled around his spoon, already mentally listing a few things he could do now that he knew how to interpret their meanings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title comes from Falling, by Harry Styles.


	3. Tainted dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares. Scarred souls. A cat. A desperate young man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder about the warnings! Beware :)

> _ We're not who we used to be _ _  
>  _ _ We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me _ _  
>  _ _ Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat _
> 
> _ Two Ghosts _ ,  **Harry Styles**

After dinner, the Trio went to the Merlin Tower’s common room to relax after such a busy day. Harry was already tired, and they were  _ still _ in the second week of September.

Harry and Ron moved the small table in front of the fireplace to the side, preferring the floor rather than occupying the sofas. After all, more students were coming in, and they all looked miserable. Harry decided they did a good thing when he saw a Slytherin girl plunging into the soft sofa. The bags under her eyes were bigger than his own. He also noticed his hands start to tremble.  _ I think I need to go to the Hospital Wing for more of the sleeping potion…  _ Harry thought with concern.

While laying on the thick, soft black carpet, he wondered if he’d survive until the end of term with how unforgiving the teachers were during classes. The Trio laid together on the carpeted floor, just enjoying the warmth coming from the flames and the mindless chatter echoing around the common room.

House-elves were popping in from time to time, extending delicious mugs of hot beverages to different students. The Slytherin –  _ Millicent Bulstrode _ , he recalled – was sleeping soundly and got a thick duvet thrown over her. The house-elf tucked her gently so she would not be woken up.

“It’s nice to see them do it, but…” Ron murmured.

“Nobody should be dealing with things like that,” Hermione voiced what Ron had meant, her tone as quiet as his. “All we should be concerned about is homework, or who to kiss, who’s kissing who… that sort of stuff. Not nightmares and outbursts and-”

Hermione didn’t even have time to finish her sentence, when a bone-chilling scream came from the girls’ dormitory. Suddenly, every student was on alert.

“Susan, wake up!” Came a distressed girl’s voice from the same place, as frightened as everybody on that Tower was. “It’s just-”

“RUN, AUNTIE, PLEASE RUN! AUNTIE, DON’T LET HIM GET YOU, PLEASE!”

The girl having a nightmare was Susan Bones. Harry recognised the scream from last week. Back then, she was pleading for the lives of other people, possibly her parents.

Harry recollected that Susan’s aunt had been murdered in their sixth year. Her parents, in the First Wizarding War.

She was alone in the world now. Just like Harry. 

“I’ll be back, ‘kay?”

Susan’s sobs were heartbreaking. 

“Okay” answered Hermione. Harry thought she would say something, but she ended up giving in and flashed him a weak smile.

Harry rose to his feet with a sheepish smile at Hermione. He knew she would have said something about him not having to help Susan, that he didn’t need to be a hero that should come to everybody’s rescue, and so on and so on. Harry genuinely loved her for having thought better and leaving him to do what he thought was right. Harry felt bad for not sitting down and talking with her like she wanted. Hermione always knew better.

Harry became smaller and smaller from one minute to the next, until a huge black cat stood in his place. He started to walk towards the girls’ dorm, hoping the stairs were not enchanted against male cats. The cat-Harry had long, glossy black fur covering his body, along with a bushy tail that pointed upwards. There were two gold circles around his green eyes and his trademark scar slashed across his small forehead and down to his upper lip.

_ Susan first,  _ Harry’s mind chanted, ignoring all the curious stares directed at his small form. He should’ve been annoyed at everybody gawking at him, as if they had never seen an Animagus before, but now was not the time. His padded feet made no noise while he was hurrying up the steps. Nothing changed, so he kept climbing. He followed the distressed voices until he came face to face with the door.

Harry meowed and scratched the surface until Lisa Turpin opened it. “What… the hell?” 

The Ravenclaw girl had tear tracks staining her cheeks and was hiccupping non-stop. Harry rushed past her, stopping briefly only to rub against Lisa’s legs in a small gesture of comfort. He would go to her later.  _ Susan first _ .

Susan Bones was on her bed, fighting to disentangle herself from the bed covers. She was still screaming, and the noise was louder than Harry could bear. He flattened his ears against his skull, his fur spiking up in annoyance. Still, he braced himself for the cacophony of noises coming from Susan. Unintelligible screams, sobs, shouted words.

It was too much, but he was Harry Potter. He had faced a Basilisk, so he could handle a distressed girl in no time.  _ Yeah, like you handled Cho? _ , his mind cruelly reminded him. Harry huffed and shook his head to clear it.

_ Susan first. _

With his paws, he clawed at the fabric and pulled towards him repeatedly. Luckily, Lisa understood what he was trying to do. She took handfuls of the covers and began helping disentangle the girl. Susan thought she was being attacked and screamed louder, kicking at the other girl until the covers were removed. Harry dived under the bed right after the Hufflepuff did - she was scared enough out of her mind to immediately seek shelter - and started rubbing his body against her until he reached her face. Susan was covering her head, her body in a fetal position.

If he looked that pitiful during a panic attack, no wonder Ron and Hermione were desperate for him to not abandon therapy. She was a mess of snot, tears, and saliva. He did not mind one bit. First, he headbutted her to get her attention.

“NO!”

She broke her protective position to swat at him, but he was faster than her. He wormed himself between her arms and dug his claws into her pyjama shirt. “No, get out, get away from me!”  _ Nope, I can’t do that,  _ he thought happily to himself.

Susan tried to push him away again, but when she still felt him clinging to her clothes, she finally opened her eyes to see what was down here with her. When Susan’s haunted eyes locked on Harry’s furry face, she seemed to deflate a little.

“What…”

_ Were you expecting a noseless someone? _ , he meowed to her. She kept gaping at him.

Harry could understand why she was confused. After eight years of practically living together, seeing an unknown animal inside the dormitory would be strange to him too. A good thing, though, was that the confusion helped her focus on something other than the nightmare that had triggered her.

He headbutted her again. Unsure fingers started to pet his fur, and Harry retracted his claws and pushed his whole body against her face. It was quite clumsy, being under the bed while trying to rub himself against another person. 

Too little space. Still, he was stubborn. If she wanted to be down there, so be it.

“W-Who’s your owner?” Susan said, her voice sounding rough from shouting.

_ Nobody, ‘course _ , he mewled at her.

“I don’t speak cat language, you know...”

Susan was still shaking. 

When he climbed on top of her neck and laid there, he felt like her shivers were his own. His eyes caught her trembling fingers threading slowly through his fur. Harry began to purr loudly, watching her closely.

One might think it would be uncomfortable being a human in the body of a cat, and doing cat-like things - like invading people’s personal spaces, sitting in awkward places, and such - but Harry felt as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was instinctive, actually. Plus, Susan didn’t seem to mind him, so he stayed.

It didn’t hurt that he was being petted, too.

At some point, he had closed his eyes to enjoy it better. Harry sometimes forgot how good it was to have someone caressing him, and he basked in the momentary attention.

Susan Bones slowly began to relax, concentrating on the softness of his black fur while her breathing matched the cadence of Harry’s purring. Altogether, it was incredibly soothing for both of them.

_ Everything will be fine _ , he assured her. To Susan, it was just a purring mewl that came out of his mouth. But it seemed enough, and the girl closed her eyes and simply breathed.

\--

Lisa Turpin lowered herself to peek at them after a long time had passed.

She smiled at Susan curled around Harry’s cat form. Harry opened his eyes, his dilated pupils contracting to small vertical lines when Lisa’s swishing clothes caught his attention.

“Hey, sweetie,” she whispered, seeming relieved at Susan’s peaceful expression.

_ Okay… Not talking to me, are you? _ , Harry thought.

“Hey,  _ chaton _ ,” Lisa’s mouth slightly pouted to form the foreign word, which Harry thought was quite funny. He batted at her lips with one of his paws, which startled a giggle out of her.

Susan opened her eyes and the scene before her elicited a tired smile.  _ Talk about small victories, huh? _

Harry kept trying to catch Lisa’s cheek and chin without moving away from Susan.

It was a relief to feel the rumbling of Susan’s laughter beneath him. He hoped there would be no more shaking and screaming for tonight.

“Hey, love,” Susan croaked, and Lisa’s eyes rose to hers. “I’m so sorry for freaking you out again…”

_ Uh, definitely not me.  _

“You don’t have to apologise for anything, babe. Those things happen, and you know I don’t mind being here for you,” Lisa smiled at Susan, reaching out her hand and waiting for Susan to meet her halfway.

Lisa waited for the other girl to initiate contact.

_ Huh… they’re dating. _ Harry was being oblivious as usual.  _ Hur-fucking-ray _ .

Harry felt Susan’s hand leave the side of his belly to touch Lisa’s hand, and instinctively he bit her arm playfully.

_ No, no! Come back _ , he prolonged the words. What came out to them was a very annoyed meow. The girls laughed at his neediness.

“Where’d you come from, cutie?” Lisa asked, pulling at his ears to mess with him. Harry bit her hand just for the audacity.

Susan giggled again, extending her other hand to hold Lisa’s so she could still thread her fingers through Harry’s soft fur. “Is it from one of the- oh, it has a scar?”

_ Oops, spotted _ , Harry mewled.  _ Wait… the scar was right there, though. How could you miss it? It’s gigantic and slashes across my itty-bitty face! _

Even though they couldn’t understand him, it seemed to dawn on them. Green eyes, black fur/hair. Huge scar.

“Harry?” they chorused. That was his cue.

Harry gently stood from Susan’s neck and walked slowly from beneath the bed, making sure to rub his fluffy tail against their faces. _She’s yours now, Lisa!_ _Bye!_ , he told them.

Harry walked back to the common room feeling very satisfied with himself. When he set foot on the last step of the marble staircase that led to the girls’ dormitory, he saw every face turning to him. He was no stranger to being looked at, since, well… he was the bloody  _ Chosen One _ . But it felt quite different to be stared  _ down _ like that and having to raise his head to glare back at their curious faces.

While he strolled towards Ron and Hermione, Harry caught grey eyes looking at him. Draco Malfoy’s eyes were following Harry since he descended the stairs, and that made the Gryffindor smile internally. He was clearly impressed even though a bit jealous.  _ People are being mean to you, from the looks of it... _ Harry pondered as he noticed the tips of Malfoy’s hair were coloured a sickly shade of green.  _ That’s… worrying. _ Parkinson, who was sitting right beside Malfoy, seemed astonished. Zabini just looked impressed.  _ As if me being an Animagus was a secret, ha. _ Not unless Harry wanted to be hunted down by the Ministry. His registration was properly filed with the Ministry of Magic. Kingsley had told him in a letter that Rita Skeeter tried to have a go at those files as soon as she caught a sniff of Harry’s name being entered there, but the Minister had concealed it from prying, mischievous eyes - Rita’s, that is.

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge, Harry being an Animagus, but it made him angry to be looked at in such a way. Were they all just overreacting, regarding him with impressed looks just because he was The Saviour?  _ I don’t know what’s worse: people fawning over everything I do nowadays, or the way people came at me in fifth year with hateful slurs, discrediting everything I tried to do or some bullshite like that… It has always been love or hate, nothing in-between, honestly... _

Harry gave the students a little huff as he strolled in front of them, making sure his tail wiggled proudly.  _ What is the big deal about Animagi? Have none of you seen McGonagall change before? Bugger off, you curious creatures _ , Harry thought, annoyed,  _ You’re all in a magical school and still get impressed by Animagi. Go figure… _ But that was clearly Harry just being his humble self. There weren't many registered Animagi, and this century he was only the eighth to enter the Ministry’s registration. In official terms, the students  _ should  _ be impressed.

_ Still _ , that didn’t mean Harry was comfortable with those displays of adoration. Attention like that always felt wrong to him, after being publicly harassed and humiliated. When he got to Ron and Hermione, Harry finally changed back to human form. He looked around with a raised eyebrow.

“Quick, Ron! Get a hat and pass around so everybody can put in Galleons since this has turned into a show,” Harry said, making all those curious eyes divert from him. He couldn’t stop the gossiping, though.  _ Ugh... _

\--

What one had to understand about their new post-war Hogwarts life was: at night, there was a lot of screaming.

Some nights, people were able to wake their mates before the screaming began. Other nights, sleep was impossible unless you spelled your own curtains. The teachers quickly realised after the first week that something had to be done to ease the trauma on students’ daily lives.

Professor Flitwick held meditation meetings outside the Great Hall before and after every meal to help students struggling with eating disorders. Professor Sprout kept every common room stocked with magical therapeutic toys - made to squeeze de-stressing wands; crystal balls that told jokes, sang relaxing songs or complimented its owner; and many other things from Weasley Wizard Wheezes.

Every day, Madam Pomfrey and her team of Healers held therapy meetings at different hours of the day so anyone could drop by when possible. She also attended those in need of dreamless sleep potions, draughts of peace for anxiety, and concoctions of herbs to help eating disorder students to be nourished and healthy if things got bad.

That’s why Draco always felt safe at Hogwarts. McGonagall was trying her best to keep them all sane, even with the odds against her. When you have a castle full of traumatised teens, everything seems valid to create a welcoming, safe space.

“Thank you, Winky.”

“You’re welcome,” the house-elf gave him a shaky smile, not getting closer to him than necessary to deliver a small bowl of melted marshmallows. The white, creamy mounds had a brown top, probably from being melted right in the oven.

Exactly how he liked it.

The house-elf vanished in a pop, leaving him alone.

He was on his bed, ‘preparing’ to sleep. Around him, most of the boys were already fast asleep. Draco scooped up the crisp marshmallow at the top and raised the spoon, watching the warmer part of the marshmallow stick to the spoon and follow it in a delicious white string.

He had to blow on it before he took a bite.

“Mmm!” It was so delicious, it made him moan. It was perfectly sweet, balanced with the burnt-taste of the thin crispy layer formed on the top.

Before the war, it would have been impossible to see so many boys asleep. Too much pent up energy. Right now, as most of the day drained them - adding the stress from their private turmoils, he guessed - it was a miracle if you saw any awake.

They had to catch as much sleep as possible before the Tower turned into Shrieking Shack 2.0.

Well, there were those who fought against sleep. Nott, for example. He had insomnia, like Draco.

Drinking the Dreamless Sleep Potion would be a simple solution to those night terrors if it weren’t so addictive. Each student had their quota of seven small vials, which had to last for two weeks. Ingesting that potion every night posed several risks, such as: hypersomnia. It was a risky collateral consequence that Draco vividly remembered Severus Snape warning the entire class about, in their fifth year.

So, the alternative was to drink the simple Sleep Potion; however, one could be trapped in nightmares or night terrors for the entire duration of the potion. They all had tried to endure it.

It was worse. Draco had tried that the first week of term, like many Slytherins did. He woke up feeling like a hippogriff had beaten him to a bloody pulp. Never again would he drink that potion.

He preferred this. Lying awake was fine. Yup, totally fine. Better than the alternative. Nott was probably reading a book, lying on one of the sofas in the common room. Only he beat Draco at being the most sleep-deprived Slytherin. Nott endured sleeplessness until his body couldn’t take it any longer.

It was becoming common to see Nott passed out from exhaustion in odd places. Yesterday, Pansy had found him unconscious against one of the Hogwarts’ suits of armour.

Pansy told Draco that the enchanted suit tried to at least keep Nott in an upright position, propped against its metal legs. But the boy was knocked out cold to the point of ending up in a very strange, very uncomfortable position.

It would have been funny if it wasn’t so tragic.

Today, Draco could already feel he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. “Let’s prepare for the second night in a row,” he drawled, adjusting himself against the three propped-up pillows.

He scooped a generous portion of sticky marshmallow and brought it to his mouth, savouring the warm melting sweetness. Salazar, it was  _ good _ . Draco could easily eat this for his whole life.

The blond fetched a thick book from the pile on his nightstand.  _ “Lumos,” _ he whispered with the spoon still in his mouth. The soft spark of light illuminated the tightly shut curtains.

He opened the  _ Potioneer’s Essential Guide into Mastery  _ and began to read while eating spoonfuls of marshmallows. Although it was quite a difficult read, the complex terminology kept his brain focussed throughout the night.

At three in the morning, the blood-curdling screams began. 

Although the shrieking was expected, Draco almost jumped out of his skin when the sound came right from _ the bed beside his _ . He felt the prickle of his thorns leisurely circling his legs and arms beneath his bedclothes.

_ Oh, what a joy…  _ Tonight, Draco had the sickening pleasure of hearing Macmillan shriek himself awake. It was funny, in a morbid, twisted way how...

“Nope,” Draco mumbled to himself, gluing his eyes to the complex potion-making displayed on the yellowed pages. “None. Of. My. Business.”

He heard the confused voices of his dorm mates. Still, he kept to his book. Draco knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help thinking it served Macmillan right to not have a peaceful sleep.

Then, something caught his attention.

“Oi! Watch out, shabby!”

A growl came from outside his curtains.  _ Could it be… _ When he peeked between the drapes, a dark cat-like silhouette could be seen rushing between the other boys’ legs and jumping on Macmillan’s bed. _ Yep, definitely Potter. _

Macmillan’s curtains were tied at the column, so Draco had a clear view of Potter pawing at Macmillan’s arms to get his attention. What a sight: a blundering mess of a boy being aided by a cat.

Draco snorted a laugh. It caught Potter’s attention for a brief moment, and Draco felt unsettled having those gleaming eyes on him. Then, Potter turned to Macmillan again.

An orange Kneazle came a few seconds later, jumping on the bed with Potter.

“Hey,” it was Granger, leaning a bit on the door frame of their room. She was huddled in a thick robe.

Draco couldn’t, for the life of him, remember her cat’s name. Not that it mattered.

Both cats seemed to have a conversation. Then, the orange one sat between Macmillan’s trembling legs while Potter kept rubbing himself against Macmillan’s torso, arms and back. Draco snorted again, looking at the other boys frozen in place.

“It seems he’s well taken care of,” Draco mocked. Several pairs of eyes landed on him, and Draco cowered a bit, even though he tried not to.

It was the usual response, nowadays. When the boys weren’t pestering Draco with their wanking routine, they were giving him the side-eye.

“It helps,” Granger explained, nodding towards Macmillan's direction. “Healers wrote an article about pets alleviating some symptoms of trauma.” She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I’ve read that!” Terry Boot agreed merrily, sitting back on his own mattress. “I suggested to Professor McGonagall that we should rescue some stray animals from muggle streets and care for them in Hogwarts,” he seemed very proud of himself. Draco arched an interested eyebrow, but remained silent.

“It would be nice,” Macmillan’s hoarse voice made Draco cringe with internal shame from having been satisfied with the other boy’s distress. “Feels good to pet them.”

Theodore Nott came to the door just as Macmillan let out a breathy laugh at Harry Potter shamelessly purring - from being stroked under his chin. Draco found it absurd that Potter seemed to be unabashedly enjoying that attention. The bastard even closed his eyes and leaned heavily against Macmillan’s hand.

“What would be nice?” Theodore spat, pushing his brown fringe away from his light brown eyes. He seemed calm, but Draco knew him well enough to know he was quite far from it. “Me punching your fucking nose in, perhaps?”

“Oh, that’s it.” Draco jolted from his mattress and walked at the brown-haired Slytherin. Granger backed away from the door, distancing herself from Nott - and from a possible fight that might break out right then and there. “You!” Draco clasped his hands on Theo’s shoulder and manoeuvred him around and away from the dorm door. “Off you go!”

“He-”

“Let’s  _ go _ ,” Draco interrupted him. “I’m not in the mood for getting beaten up trying to save your skinny arse from being murdered tonight, Theo.” And with that, Draco pushed Theodore along the corridor.

“Who said I’d get murdered!?” Theodore kept trying to fight Draco back, pushing against his hands. It was a lost cause, as Draco was thin, but not as thin as a bowtruckle like Theo.

“ _ I  _ did,Theodore,” Draco’s voice sounded strained as he tried to drag the other Slytherin away from the marble pillar he just took hold of, clinging to it like a lifeline. “Oi, for fuck’s sake, Theo! Leave that tosser alone, he’s fucked up already!” Draco insisted, trying to keep his voice down. Well, trying. Draco was so drawn out he just wanted to lay down on the floor and fucking beg for his mother. “And there’s a room full of people that hate your guts. They’ll probably beat you to a pulp.”

“They shouldn’t hate me!” Theodore howled. Draco stopped pushing him, startled by the brunette’s outburst. “THEY FUCKING SHOULDN’T!” Theodore turned to face Draco.

Over Theodore’s shoulder, Draco could see Weasley was climbing up the stairs and froze when he heard Theodore’s shout. Behind the redhead, Draco could see there were other curious boys and girls.

“Theo…” Draco tried to soothe him, wishing his friend wouldn’t expose himself to a crowd.

“I am tired of them treating me like a fucking Death Eater, Draco!”

“I KNOW!” Draco shouted, raising his hands and carding his fingers through his hair, then pulling on them in a sign of frustration. “But not here, not now, and  _ especially _ not in front of them!”

Draco was breathing hard, mirroring Theodore’s own breathing. “Ouch!” Theodore cried out. He suddenly jumped away from Draco, looking down at his hands. “What the fuck, Draco!?”

The darkened stems - the ones that usually kept curled around Draco’s limbs in tense moments like this - were protruding from his skin and reaching out. They divided and grew around him, ripping his sleeves and the seam of his pyjamas when the thorns caught on them. Theodore’s arms had bleeding slashes and tiny points, exactly were Draco’s thorns scraped against them. He was too close when they sprang out.

“I am so, so sorry!” Draco apologised, first trying to reach his friend and, then seeing his hands and arms covered in dark vines, retreating just in time.

He wasn’t safe like this.

Draco stepped back and bumped into another body.

“Easy, there,” Harry Potter, now human, closed his hands on each of Draco’s elbows and gently supported him. “Erm, I think we should just go to the…” Harry nodded in the general direction where the common room was and started nudging Draco forward.

“Potter, what…”

“Back to your rooms!” Weasley commanded the crowd that had gathered in the corridor and on the stairs, startling Draco. “Go on. I’ll start taking points if I see any of you lurking around or something.”

It was instantaneous. Draco saw all the boys retreat to their rooms, emptying the corridor. He heard the girls gossiping in hushed tones while they climbed up their own staircase.

Theodore flattened himself against the wall to avoid getting hurt when Potter guided Draco through the corridor and down the flight of stairs. Theodore moved without realising though. His face had paled to a sickeningly ashen colour and his eyes were distant. Granger came to his aid, ever the suffering good girl that she was.

Draco wanted to shake himself free from Potter's grip on his elbows, but he felt he couldn’t. His body had frozen at the sight of blood, just like Theodore’s had. The most he was able to do was walk on wobbly legs.

“Hold on, hold on, we’re almost at the sofas,” Potter urged him. “Just a few more steps…”

Draco closed his eyes just as he felt his legs giving in. It felt like everything was spinning and his body was getting colder by the minute.

“Malfoy- ouch,  _ Merlin’s knickers _ \- Malfoy!”

Draco shut his eyes tightly, bowing his head.

“Malfoy,” Granger called out to him, clearly concerned.

“Back off a bit,” Draco slurred, shaking his head slowly to see if the sensation vanished. It didn’t, obviously.

“Hey,” Draco heard Potter talking to him, and he tried to raise his head. It lolled back, and he felt himself sliding down when warm hands - fucking burning - gripped him. One was on his arm and the other on his back, to better support his weight. “Malfoy, hey- don’t fa-”

The darkness came, as if it was a blessing.

\--

Draco heard the distant sound of several voices. Their meaning was indistinguishable. His mind kept trying to decipher the words, but it was as though a blank dominated everything. His speech, his conscience, everything.

The only thing he seemed to actually process was the burning points where something touched him. There was a warmth against the side of his hip, another on his neck. He definitely had something holding on his… his… the things he used for holding… things.

There was a scent he could distinguish, too. Salazar, he was  _ out _ of his mind, wasn’t he? It was a warm scent, something complex and with spicy undertones to it. Sweet, too. And… familiar?

He tried to see something, but everything was strikingly white. He wasn’t even sure he had opened his… things- his  _ eyes _ . Why on earth was he finding it so difficult to think clearly?

He tried to move his body, but it didn’t feel like it worked at all. Except… The warm things touched his shoulders, then moved to his face. Gosh, it was incredibly good to feel that burning touch on his cheeks. It was right then that he got a sense of how much he felt cold. It was as if somebody had hexed him with a freezing spell.

Draco heard chattering. His teeth, probably. He tasted something sweet on his tongue and at the back of his throat, and he moaned appreciatively. Draco couldn’t remember when he tasted something resembling berries. It wasn’t exactly good, it felt a bit wrong. Like it was mixed with herbs that did not blend at all with their natural flavour.

He gagged on something cold swirling past his lips. Wait. He was actually drinking that liquid  _ now _ . Merlin, he really was broken, if he couldn’t even distinguish between something happening at the present from something that had already passed. 

Draco heard a voice sounding much closer than before. He moaned again, choking on the liquid. The warm sources slid from his cheeks to the base of his skull, seeming to lift his head up.

“I-” he garbled, feeling the cold liquid spattering his open lips and chin. Draco started to panic, as the liquid took too much of his attention and he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe properly.

Draco heard that same voice, the one closest to him and apparently belonging to what - who? - was touching him. He couldn’t understand the words, but he could focus on the deep tone of them. It was gentle, if a bit alarmed.

Draco couldn’t pinpoint who it was. A foggy memory, a sense of safety, that everything would be alright if he clung to it flashed in his mind. He didn’t know how, but he managed to relax his throat and he ingested the liquid and then gulps of much-needed air.

Something dabbed at his lips and chin. Soft but textured. Like cloth. 

Draco’s head was lowered again and he felt the source of warmth retreat from his skin. Right now he couldn’t remember if he had arms to raise, but he tried to lift something, anything, to try and stop the warmth from going away.

A deep chuckle. They came back, resting on his arms again. Before he knew it, he slipped into unconsciousness.

\--

Everything was black, this time.

He was on something soft and his body was much warmer than before. It felt cozy, so he adjusted himself better. Draco felt how his limbs were heavy as if they weighed tons. It was strange, but not stranger than the fact he felt incredibly rested, yet he was longing to sleep more.

Something way warmer than him was right at his face, and he became aware of that spicy scent again. Actually, it seemed to be wrapped around him, like a blanket. It produced a pleasant shiver that spread out from his chest and up to his neck; then, down to arms, out along his stiff fingers, to the tips of his toes.

Draco buried his face on the softest surface ever and exhaled a blissful sigh.

He opened his eyes slowly, very tentatively. Contrary to his expectations, nothing was bright - signalling the dawn -, but rather, his bed was submerged in soft oranges and yellows and burnt pink.

The crepuscule, possibly. Draco’s mind was still quite chaotic.

The next thing he noticed is that his face was buried in a very warm, very dark, and hairy ‘blanket’. Slowly, he raised his head to have a better look at it. Even with half-lidded eyes, Draco could now distinguish the blanket was actually the furry belly of a cat, which was rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Draco also noticed that the black fur was unruly as if the cat had been caught in a whirlwind. The cat’s tail was laying flat against his pill-  _ Draco was on his bed? _ He looked around and saw that one side of the curtains were shut, the one facing the other beds.

The curtains facing the floor-to-ceiling windows were tied at the mahogany column. Some of it hung in a soft arch, casting some shadow inside his canopy bed without concealing the sunset from the blond.

The cat was lying lazily on his back on Draco’s bed, between the dark green blanket and the pale yellow sheets. The long whiskers twitched, but the cat did not wake. Draco let out a drunk-ish giggle, frowning slightly.

“Whu… Who let you in here?” Draco said, his voice sounding hoarse and deep from disuse. He was sure he was talking nonsense.

While slowly regaining his senses, Draco found it even funnier that the cat’s bushy tail was on Draco’s pillow. From the Slytherin's point of view, the cat was lying upside down. That’s how Draco ended up curled on the bed and with his face buried on the cat’s belly then.

The paws were drawn close to the cat’s chest. Before he knew it, Draco was poking at the cat’s paws, then curling two fingers over it and squeezing the soft rosy pads. It made the cat stretch out his body but still kept his eyes closed. After that, the cat threw his head back further, exposing his throat.

“Oi,” Draco said amusedly, scratching the cat’s chin and neck. Draco poked him again, but after a few minutes staring sleepily at the cat’s relaxed form, the blond gave up and laid down his head against that fluffy belly.

Draco kept caressing the cat’s fur, and the comforting sensation plus the deep purring lulled the blond back into sleep.

\--

Distantly, Draco heard a growl, followed by an aggressive spitting noise.

“Oh, I wish I had a camera with me!” A girl's voice whined.

“He will be  _ so _ pissed,” a soft voice drawled, and the amusement in it was evident. “Circe forgives me, but I lived to see this moment and I am planning to enjoy it. Every. Second. Of. It.”

“Waddaya saying…” Draco asked, his voice muffled and the intonation of the question coming out in an odd way. His head felt hazy, but so well-rested he found it strange. It had been three years of not sleeping well, so he’d gotten used to feeling like shit.

The cat hissed, then: “Are all of you children?”

Pansy growled, then stomped her foot in frustration. “Potter!” she chided. “You were supposed to stay transformed!”

“Stop pestering us, then, or I-”

“Potter, please. Don't take this moment from us. We’ve waited for eight long years, endured never-ending nights of bitchy fits, and read thousands of letters in order to see this,” Blaise purred. The bastard didn’t even try to conceal how much he was loving what he was seeing.

_ Hold on, _ Draco thought, alarmed.  _ What is he seeing? _ Then, something even more alarming occurred to him.  _ Why is Potter in the same room as me and my friends? _

Draco cracked an eye open.

Pansy took a camera from Theo’s hands and positioned it in front of her face. “Smile!” she chirped. A flash blinded Draco and he hid his face, grumbling.

“Explain to me why, for Salazar’s _ fucking  _ beard, _ why _ , ” Draco asked, his voice rising at every word, “Pansy  _ dearest _ ,” he spat, “would you fucking try to blind me?”

Another flash.

“PANSY!”

“He’ll choke you to death with a sock, Pans,” Theo chuckled.

“Give me that,” Potter moved, starting to dislodge Draco from where the blond was hiding.

_ What. In the actual. Hell. Was going. On. _

Draco propped up his upper body from the bed so quickly he collided the back of his head against Potter’s chin.

“Ow!” Potter cried before being thrown back by the impact.

A flash blinded Draco again, leaving him disoriented.

“Oh, shit,” cursed Theo, coming to their rescue. Draco felt his cold hands touching his bare arm and a second later the spot Draco hit against Potter. Theo tried to rub it as if it would magically take the pain away. “Are you okay, D?” asked Theo, clearly concerned despite his barely-contained laughter.

“Merlin’s balls,” squealed Draco, “Potter,” the blond held his own head, moaning in-between words, “why this?!”

Blaise howled with laughter. “This is getting better by the minute,” Blaise stuttered, letting out a very undignified snort while trying to contain his joy.

“Are you bleeding?” asked Pansy, too content with her photos to actually give two shits about Draco’s wellbeing.

“Fuck off,” the blond barked back. She would pay. He would make sure of it.

Draco managed to sit back on his heels to hold his head better, and also to avoid being asphyxiated by burying his face on the mattress in such a way.

“Woah, careful there, D,” Theo said, both hands extended to Draco when he saw the other boy sway.

“I’m fine,” Draco reassured the brunette. Turning his face a bit, Draco saw that the Gryffindor had fallen on his back and onto the pillows. Potter seemed to have given up after being hit. Draco could see how Potter’s torso and neck were arching from the awkward angle his body was laying.

“Potter, are you in need of a healing spell or something?” offered Blaise, practically singing every word.  _ He really is having a blast, the fucker! _

Potter held up both hands against his face and let out a long, painful groan. Draco couldn’t see what was the cause of all that pitiful moaning, as Potter’s head was thrown back too far. However, Draco could see Potter's exposed neck, his Adam's apple bobbing every time he emitted another groan. 

Because Potter had raised his arms, the rim of his red-and-gold jumper lifted and left his stomach exposed.

Holy fuck. Potter was better fed than Draco had ever seen him be for the past seven years, so he clearly had put on some weight. No abs, of course. Draco saw just a flat stomach, but what had  _ actually  _ caught his eye was the v-shapes that lined the lower side of Potter’s abdomen.

Grey eyes followed the jet-black hairs that trailed from Potter’s belly button, down his navel, vanishing beneath the waistband of his black sweatpants along with the end of those sensuous v-lines. So much brown skin exposed. Potter’s skin looked quite smooth-

Draco suddenly felt his neck and cheeks burning, the telltale sign he was blushing furiously. And  _ something _ in his pants decided to spring awake, too.

Firstly, he looked around the room.

Blaise had one leg crossed in front of the other, leaning one shoulder against the wall beside the window. Pansy had put down the camera, and Draco could now see her ear-splitting smile. Theo stared back at Draco, amused.

Draco decided he wouldn’t kill Theo along with the other two little shits because he was the only one that had the minimum decency of looking guilty for laughing at Draco’s predicament.

_ Secondly _ , Potter was still in his bed.

“Out,” bellowed Draco, jumping out of the bed and pulling at Potter’s legs in sheer panic. “Now!”

“Shit,” cursed Potter, swaying on his feet and rapidly putting out a hand to steady himself on the nearest column.

Draco saw Potter’s lower lip had split open, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. “I did NOT allow you to be in MY BED, so get the fuck out!” Draco shouted, shoving Potter towards the door.

Pansy got out of the way just in time, throwing herself at one of the empty beds.

“What the- you ungrateful brat!” Potter screamed back. “I was trying to hel-” Draco cut him off mid-sentence by shoving Potter’s shoulders harder. “WANKER!” was the last thing Potter said before Draco shut the door in his face.

Draco heard a satisfying thump, followed by an angry cry of pain. He hoped he had at least drawn a bit of blood from the bastard’s nose. Draco leaned against the door, both arms outstretched to assure he’d block Potter out if the Gryffindor tried to enter his room again.

_ “Arrombado do caralho,” _ he heard Potter mumble from the other side of the door, but couldn’t understand a word. Draco only faced his  _ ex _ -best friends when he could no longer hear Potter’s footsteps or grumbling.

_ “What, in the name of Merlin, was the bloody Golden Boy doing on my bed?”  _ Draco hissed at them.

He caught a tiny blur from the corner of his eye and stared down. All eyes followed the bell-shaped bud gently falling to the stone floor. The Slytherins stared at it, dumbfounded.

It was a tiny snow-white Lily of the Valley. And a very much  _ alive  _ one.

“Shit, you’re blooming?” exclaimed Theo, voicing Draco’s thought. _ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaton is the french equivalent of 'cat'.
> 
> Arrombado do caralho means something like 'cum-dumpster, shit-eating fucktard' or worse. This particular cursing is loaded with hatred, so I struggled a lot to find an equivalent cursing that could convey the same feeling!
> 
> Lily-of-the-Valley means Return of happiness.
> 
> Also, non-english comments are welcome, too! <3


	4. A place where I don't feel alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry decides the bad blood between him and Malfoy needs to end. Draco doesn't know how to react with Harry's attention. Meanwhile, the first and second-years struggle and need some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the warnings and the tags! Please take care of yourself and your mental health! XOXO

> _ There is a house built out of stone _ _  
>  _ _ Wooden floors, walls and window sills _ __  
>  _ Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust _ _  
>  _ _ This is a place where I don't feel alone _ _  
>  _ __ This is a place where I feel at home
> 
> – _To Build a Home,_ **The Cinematic Orchestra**

“I cannot believe how stupid I am,” Harry snorted. “Hermione, don’t let me be stupid like that ever again, please.”

Hermione shot Harry a dirty look. Ron chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Mate, since when have we had any say in anything you do, lately?” the redhead asked, trying and failing to tie the Gryffindor red-and-gold tie around his neck.

_ Ouch. _

Hermione blew a kiss to Ron for his comment, earning an adorable blush that spread on Ron’s freckled face and down his neck. Even after almost one and a half years of dating, he still couldn’t stop blushing every time Hermione publicly displayed her affection towards him.

“I’ll try, but you’ll probably just get mad at me, as always,” she said, adjusting her newly braided hair over her shoulders.

“About that… I have been a total arsehole with you two since...” said Harry, grimacing. “I apologise,” he spoke as softly as possible. He took a hand to his hair, messing it up. It was weird to feel his thick hair being all soft and glossy.

“Stop it!” Hermione reprimanded Harry, slapping at his hands. “You’ll ruin the hydration with your oily hands, Harry!”

“Sorry…”

Last night, after being kicked out of Malfoy’s shared dormitory room, Harry had looked for Hermione. She was planning to braid her hair with Lavender Brown. Both girls ended up convincing him to stay for their hair treatment ‘party’. Ron got one too, after Hermione found where he was hiding.

Harry’s hair had resisted the combing. All strands were still pointing in every direction, but they seemed way darker and shinier. Harry felt as if he had done something superb, since the usual number of eyes that followed him everywhere had doubled. 

“Hullo!”, Lavender greeted them, falling in with Hermione’s step. “He’s already ruining our work, isn’t he?” she asked, clucking her tongue in disappointment at him.

“Yes. Can’t stop touching his hair for one minute,” complained Hermione, huffing. “By the end of the day his hair will be as oily as… erm…”

“Parkinson’s?” Lavender supplied good-naturedly, not allowing the memory of Severus Snape to hang in the air and sour their mood. Parkinson never had oily hair. “Harry, it would be helpful if you kept your sweaty hands off our masterpiece, or it’ll fall flat and greasy on your forehead, yeah?”

He grimaced. “I said I’d try.”

“I’ll jinx you every time you raise your hand to touch your hair, promise” said Ron, smiling wickedly at his best friend. Ron’s red hair was styled in a simple pompadour, much different from his usual style combed to one side. Like Harry’s, his colour had revitalised to a flaming copper shade.

“I’ll hex your buttocks off if you so much as raise your wand,” Harry threatened Ron, going so far as arching one eyebrow to look menacing.

Many girls and boys were looking appreciatively at the four of them while they were descending the stairs, heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry lowered his eyes momentarily, blushing. Then, he thought it was stupid to act like that. Harry felt good after being pampered.

A moment later, Lavender seemed to think the exact same thing and tapped a finger on Harry’s chin. “Hey, chin up!” she encouraged him with a smile.

He had been right in thinking she was hiding something. From this close, Harry could see three ragged lines on her face.

One from Lavender’s chin to her left earlobe. The second started on the right side of her upper lip, followed up her nose, to the beginning of her eyebrow and ended on the left side of her forehead. The third one started on her left cheekbone, passed her chin, followed the line of her throat, and kept going down, inside the unfastened collar of the white shirt of her uniform.

He swallowed with difficulty. Not even that thick layer of makeup could conceal the slightly sunken lines that marred her skin.

“There’s nothing wrong in taking care of yourself,” Lavender continued reassuring Harry, evidently ignoring the way he was trying  _ not _ to stare at her face, “I know you’re not used to it, but trust me: it improves self-esteem and helps to keep the spirits high!”

Harry nodded.

Both girls returned to their conversation and Ron, surprisingly, began to participate. Harry preferred to simply observe rather than pay attention to what was being said.

The way Lavender and Hermione held themselves proudly brought a smile to his lips. Hermione was much more confident now that she had found a way of styling her hair in a manner she  _ actually _ liked, instead of pulling it up in a bushy ponytail or bun.

Last night, Hermione had opted for box braids with gold threads intertwined; Lavender, for cornrow braids at the top of her head, leaving the rest of her hair to fall around her shoulders in ringlets. Lavender’s braids had a silver thread intertwined, full of yellow pearl pins that highlighted her hazel eyes.

They were on friendly terms now, having put their differences aside since the beginning of the year. Lavender was having problems coming to terms with her scars, courtesy of Fenrir Greyback during the final battle. As Hermione had scars that held painful memories too, they began to talk in January (1999). Harry found out they had become friends by a letter that Ron sent to him during Harry’s impromptu ‘vacation’.

When the war ended, Harry helped to capture some wizards that held some personal interest to him. The new Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had trusted in Harry enough to allow him to participate in a special Auror unit. Harry’s unit had gotten Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange imprisoned again. And the Carrows, Rookwood, Avery, Dolohov, Crabbe Sr., and Fenrir Greyback.

Those months had been exhausting, but Harry had wanted nothing more than to see those psychopaths behind closed bars. Harry had to guarantee those bastards would be sentenced, so he had stayed in the United Kingdom until November 1998. The Malfoys’ trials were the last ones he wanted to participate in, though.

The Minister had told him the Warlocks from the Wizengamot were planning on sentencing Lucius Malfoy to the Dementor’s Kiss. As much as Harry hated Lucius’ guts, he knew it was fairer to lock him up alive rather than let Lucius be sentenced to death. Dead people couldn’t learn from their mistakes. 

And talking about death, Harry  _ also _ discovered from Minister Shacklebolt that  _ Draco Malfoy _ was on the list. The Council only wanted to imprison Narcissa along with her mother-in-law, Alcyone Fawley-Malfoy.

Harry couldn’t forget how Draco had saved him at Malfoy Manor. After everything they went through, he seemed to have seen a spark of hope in Harry. He would never forget the moment that Draco Malfoy had been on his side rather than Voldemort’s.

Why? You never forget the face of the person who was your last hope.

_ Especially _ in a life or death situation. He had already repaid his Life Debt to Draco in the Room of Requirement but… Harry owed a Life Debt to Narcissa Malfoy. Pleading in favour of her family was the least he could do. 

Harry had asked Luna to help make him vanish for a while after that. Hermione had been completely against it, as she saw it as a way of Harry just trying to run away from feelings, from trauma… from being alive.

Ron had been on her side, and for a good reason. The months hunting down those Death Eaters had cost Harry his health. At first, he thought he had done the right thing since it was for a good cause. Later, he would regret it.

After the Victory Day, Harry hadn’t been able to sleep without using the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Well, he still couldn’t sleep very well without it. Two uninterrupted hours – of poor sleep quality – was the longest he could get nowadays. 

Harry sat at the Eighth-year table, and above their heads there were flags of all the houses floating around. McGonagall was really trying to make them all unite and drop their house biases against each other. Ron, Hermione, and Lavender joined him. All of them started piling food on their plates and began to participate in the conversations and discussions the other Gryffindors were having. Well, except Harry, who focussed on his food.

Seven months ingesting the Potion every night had left Harry to deal with insomnia  _ and _ many other shitty things. It didn’t help that his magic increased in power, which led him to have some problems while performing spells: they went out too strong. A simple  _ Wingardium Leviosa _ used inside the Burrow caused every object and furniture to shoot right up to the ceiling. His status as a powerful wizard left Harry bewildered because he had never had  _ that much _ at his disposal. Guttier, along with a St. Mungo’s Healer named Florinda Vale, were both studying the impact all this power had on Harry’s body and mind. They had said that’s why the Dreamless Sleep Potion was affecting him differently after all those months ingesting it. All of this and much more was enough to justify Ron and Hermione throwing a fit when Harry announced his ‘vacation’. The only thing that stopped them from admitting him into St. Mungo’s was Harry agreeing to do therapy with a Mind Healer twice a week.

That was how he had ended up travelling to Brazil with Luna’s help. When he told Luna Lovegood that he needed a break after defeating Voldemort, he wasn’t joking. She had gotten him an off-the-record Portkey and hadn’t said a word about his destination.

Luna had been the one who delivered Ron’s letter to Harry by hand. Harry smiled, remembering the freeing sensation of not being recognised in the Brazilian wizarding streets – he was heavily concealed with glamour charms, of course. He only had to preoccupy himself with discovering the wonders in his father’s homeland and with therapy.

Harry had returned to England on August 31 st , only to embark for his final year at Hogwarts. There was the persistent guilt over abandoning the British wizarding world to straighten things up on their own, but he just… needed to breathe.

Not to look at everything that had happened to his life from an outsider perspective, no. Just… to see new things, to distance himself from the post-war chaos that had swept Britain.

Healer Guttier had reassured him that he needed to be selfish sometimes, after he had told her basically everything – he was safe with her, as Hermione had made sure to bound Harry and the Healer in a non-disclosure magical contract first. After talking about his sacrifice, Guttier had reassured Harry that Britain would be fine without him for a while. Hearing that did not make him feel better, though. If anything, it worsened his guilt of abandoning  _ Teddy _ , his godson; and sending gifts to him did not ease Harry’s lack of presence for that child. Guttier said he needed time to pull himself together to be a better godfather to Teddy, but still…  _ Merlin _ , Harry seemed to never stop feeling guilty.

Harry admitted to himself he might have felt better if he had worked on Guttier’s list to help him through trauma. He wasn’t. He  _ isn’t _ . Things were still too painful to look at.

“Who do you think will win the first Quidditch match of the year, Harry?” Ron asked between mouthfuls of bread. Several Gryffindors turned their heads to see his response, quite excited with the topic.

Harry heard him as if Ron was far, far away. Still, the question seemed to register in his brain. “Slytherin, probably,” Harry answered, eating a spoonful of his fruit salad.

“What?” Fay Dunbar exclaimed in pure disbelief, dropping her fork on her dish. “The Slytherins will get their arses kicked so hard they won’t be able to see straight! Sommerby is not well enough yet to play Quidditch, so Megan Jones replaced him and she’s  _ perfect _ !” Fay pointed out, quite proud of the new Hufflepuff Seeker.

At the mention of the Slytherins, Harry’s eyes immediately looked down the length of the table. Most Slytherins in his year were sitting together, talking quietly, at the end of the Eighth-year table. Some others were at the Slytherin table on the other side of the Hall; Harry assumed that was because they had friends or siblings in other years. Of course, it was not forbidden for the eighth-years to sit at the house tables whenever they wanted. _ United we are Stronger became McGonagall’s motto for this year. _ They could still sit at their houses’ tables, but everybody was also trying to make the Headmistress happy, so many sat at the new table and tried to be friendly.  _ Yeah, some aren’t trying _ , Harry thought while catching a few nasty glares sent toward the Slytherins’ ‘side’ of the table.

When Harry’s eyes finally landed on Malfoy, he startled. The blond was already staring at him. Even though he was frowning slightly, Malfoy was regarding Harry with a different sort of look… as if he was impressed with Harry.  _ Have you decided you liked our sleepover?  _ Harry closed his lips on his next spoonful of fruit, arching an eyebrow.

“Mhm,” Harry mumbled an agreement to Fay Dunbar, grinning at all her excitement. “If you say so, then I'll put my Galleons on Hufflepuff when the betting pool opens.”

**

Sue Li, a sixth-year Ravenclaw Prefect, caught up to Harry in-between breaks from his Transfiguration class to talk about the second-years’ night terrors.. “...You’ll pay a visit to them later, then?” 

“I will,” Harry promised, adjusting the satchel strap on his shoulder. “I can’t sleep much, so it’ll be fine. I’m used to keeping watch,” Harry felt the need to explain as soon as he saw the Ravenclaw girl’s face tighten in concern, “you know like Moody used to say, ‘Constant Vigilance’ and all that. Hard to shake it off after you get used to it.”

Sue Li gave him a relieved smile. “Thanks, Harry. You really are the best. That’s why they want you near.”

“Are you sure?” teased Harry, wiggling his eyebrows. “Isn’t it because of my fluffy little self? I am sure they’d all love to have ‘keeping nightmares at bay’ as an excuse so they can smother me to death with hugs.”

Sue Li rolled her eyes good-humouredly, “Well, that too! Everybody’s saying how cute you are as a cat.”

Harry gave her a bashful smile after the compliment. “I’ll pass by after dinner,” he reassured her.

“Wonderful!” Sue Li started to head down the Transfiguration courtyard with a light spring in her step. “Bye, Harry!”

“Bye, Sue,” Harry waved goodbye at her, smiling.

The Transfiguration courtyard was one of the cloisters in the inner part of the castle. The courtyard opened to an area covered with grass and an orange-and-yellow ancient tree. The leaves were already falling, making perfect natural beds for the students to pile up and lay on top of. At the centre stood a massive iron Armillary Sphere.

Harry was about to step away from the archway and into the chilly afternoon. The wind was a little too cold to not wear a scarf, but otherwise Harry felt comfortable in his Gryffindor jumper. He didn't feel too warm nor too cold like this.

A rush of laughing students came from down the hall and almost ran Harry over. He dodged away just in time, watching them all talk at once. Harry could only distinguish two voices from the cacophony because the respective girls were closer to him.

“... let’s see how  _ he  _ gets away from that!” the Ravenclaw one celebrated.

“I bet he’ll be there until dinner time!” Another girl, a Gryffindor, snickered. “While he enjoys his time there, let’s hide these. Isn’t he the one who loves treasure hunting?” The Gryffindor girl mocked. She and her other friends all had something in their arms.

Harry saw just bits of the things they held, but none of them stood out to him. “What-  _ hide?” _ Harry muttered to himself, immediately perking up at that. If he was unsure about chasing them down and demanding to know who those things belonged to, now his mind was set. “Stop right there!” Harry called out loudly, raising his hand. An invisible wall blocked their way, without Harry having to utter a word. All of them walked right into it, stunned by the abrupt wall of magic that appeared out of nowhere. They could sense it was extremely strong magic because their hair stood on end after they stumbled into it. As the students turned their heads, their eyes widened comically at seeing the Saviour glaring and with his hand raised towards their direction. They also were afraid of his display of strong wandless magic. “Finders  _ are not  _ keepers _ ,” _ Harry said, and it worked as a command: he felt his magic wrapping around the stolen things and brought them to his extended hand.

Harry caught a satchel, a silver-and-green scarf, a wand, a _humongous white peacock feather quill_ , and a pile of potions books. Most of the things were still in the satchel, he noticed with relief. When Harry raised his green eyes back to them, the students had scattered like cockroaches. “Cowards,” he spat angrily. He opened the satchel and put the quill and the scarf in there; placing the stolen wand in his back pocket, right beside his own. Harry kept the books floating around his head, though. He already had his own satchel and the stolen one on each of his shoulders, and it would be too heavy to hold the books also. His magic seemed to hum contentedly around him, delighted to be unleashed. Harry still found it weird to experience these magical outbursts. After defeating Voldemort, he sensed how his magic seemed to gather and unleash all at once, much stronger than it had been his entire life. It was also trickier to control it. Summoning stuff to him or hovering things off the floor was one thing; wandless magic for more complicated spells? It could get nasty. He was still trying to exert control over all that power.

Harry looked at the place where they came from and tilted his head in curiosity. He decided to go there.  _ Surely I’ll find the owner there. _ When Harry arrived in the corridor, it was empty. Harry looked around the hallway and, this time, inside the rooms. When he neared the door in the middle of the hallway, he heard a distant groaning.

Harry looked over his shoulder but saw nobody; in front of him, nothing as well: the classroom was empty. He closed the door and frowned. The groaning was a bit louder than before, and it came from the exact spot where he stood.

Harry raised his green eyes to the ceiling. Someone was between the sculpted arches. A white-blond, Slytherin someone.  _ Of course… who else would own a posh quill like this one, Harry? _ Malfoy’s body was glued from head to toe against the stone ceiling, but by what, Harry couldn’t see. His hair was falling around his head and casting shadows across his face, so Harry couldn’t see Malfoy’s expression. Harry could imagine it, though.

“Are you hurt?” Harry asked loudly.

“B-bugger off, Potter,” came the tearful answer.

“And leave you like this?” Harry arched an eyebrow to the blond. “I doubt you can come down on your own,” he put his and Malfoy’s satchel on the floor, Malfoy’s shiny leather one on top of Harry’s so it would not get dirty. The books kept floating, though.

“I don’t need your help,” Malfoy’s voice came out wobbly.  _ The bastard has the nerve to be proud even in such a situation? _

“Yeah?” Harry scoffed. “I can recall other times you didn't want my help, either, but had to accept it or else you’d be fucked.” Harry swished his hand quickly in a round manner, ordering: “ _ Accio _ Firebolt!” Then, he directed a playful mocking tone to Malfoy: “And I didn’t even need a Remembrall to help me remember that!!”

Harry heard Malfoy’s groaning subdue for a bit, indicating the boy stopped struggling to free himself from what was sticking him up there. Just in time, his Firebolt came flying into his hand. Harry mounted it and glided up towards the ceiling. When Harry was at arm’s reach of Malfoy, he noticed what was gluing Malfoy there. It was a Sticking Charm, which was simple but very strong, as the caster probably had been quite used to perform it.

“I’ll get you out, just hang on,” Harry said and chuckled when Malfoy huffed at his joke. Harry pulled his wand and pointed the tip to where Malfoy’s body was glued to the stone and began to chant the counter-spell. His wand sent flashes upon flashes of yellow into Malfoy’s body, ungluing him slowly. It seemed like he had been glued by layers and layers of spells, which Harry never knew was possible.

It was a good thing Harry decided to use his broom to come this close rather than perform the spell from the ground. Sticking Charms never combined well with other spells, and it was quite possible to permanently stick something if the wrong spell was used. Trying that with wandless magic would also not be a good call. With the way it was untamed, Harry could get Malfoy permanently glued there or something else way worse.

Malfoy’s arm became free, and he immediately held Harry’s shoulder. Harry tightened his thighs on the broom, positioning himself better to catch Malfoy. Later, Harry freed the blond’s torso, both legs, and his head.

“This is…” Draco panted, his face rapidly becoming pink from being hung upside down “is extremely… uncomfortable… c’mon, Po-”

Harry performed the last cast and Malfoy came down onto him, making Harry almost fall from the broom. Malfoy clung to Harry to the point of bruising. Harry was sure his neck and his ribs would bear marks later.

“Don’t you dare drop me!”

“What do you think I am? A brainless slug?” Harry shot back, indignantly.

They were holding each other in the most awkward way, as Malfoy hadn’t had the time to swing his butt on top of the broom. Harry had to bear his whole weight and discovered he was heavy, but not as much as he should have been. Harry tightened his arms around Malfoy and felt his prominent ribs. Harry winced. He lowered them safely to the ground, and Malfoy quickly put distance between them to start adjusting his own clothes and hair with dust-covered hands.

“Are you…” Harry had begun to ask but stopped when Malfoy stared hard at him.

Malfoy’s body was tense, probably an attempt at concealing the rage that was causing his body to shake uncontrollably. He could also see some thorny stems peeking from under the blond’s clothes. Harry stood there, with the Firebolt in his hand and at a complete loss for words. He remembered feeling that sort of anger after being chased and beaten up by Dudley’s gang too many times to count on his fingers. Harry had cried himself to exhaustion for the same reasons, too. He noticed Malfoy’s red-rimmed eyes and knew, from all those years, how proud Malfoy was to not allow tears to come in front of people he did not trust or like. Between the stems curling and uncurling close to Malfoy’s neck, trying to shield him as usual, Harry could see the pearly-white scars the  _ Sectumsempra  _ had left behind: a slash on the side of his neck that went up to his right cheek.  _ There’s more on his chest, _ Harry remembered. That night in the bathroom, where he witnessed a desperate boy having a meltdown, had been the first and last time Harry saw Malfoy cry.

“I’ll make sure nobody pulls that shite on you again,” Harry whispered in a reassuring way as if talking to a scared animal.

There was no sign of tears in Malfoy’s grey eyes, but his still-rosy face was a clear indication they were being held back. “I don’t-”

“You do,” Harry said, tone hard and unyielding. “I don’t think I can manage on my own, so I’ll find a way for you to not be alone. We can prevent this if you walk in a group.”

“My friends,” Malfoy began, gritting through his teeth, “endure the same treatment that I do, Potter. Doesn't matter if we walk together, we always get caught, as there are too many bloody wands aiming at our backs for us to-”

“I know.”

“You don't! You don’t know what it is to feel observed and judged! To have people staring at you with anger and suspicion in their eyes! You’ve never had to walk and feel as if you have a fucking target on your back begging for people to shoot their worst at you!”

Harry kept staring at him, his green eyes never wavering away from grey ones. Harry arched his eyebrows, smirking at Malfoy.

“I’ve lived my whole life like that.” Harry walked backwards to retrieve his and Malfoy’s satchels from the floor. “First, all my Muggle neighbours were under the impression I was a thief. I’ve been stopped in the streets more times than I can count while I was just doing chores for my aunt,” Harry scoffed a humourless laugh, walking back to where Malfoy was. “When they dared approach me, there was always someone rubbing a handkerchief at my face, saying I looked dirty.” Harry placed the satchel on Malfoy’s shoulder, but when he extended the blond’s wand after getting it out of his back pocket, Malfoy just stood there looking at him dumbfounded. “I’ve never worn clothes that actually fit me, and apparently that made me look like a homeless boy. The neighbours always threatened to call the Muggle law enforcers if I played too close to their doors.” Harry gave up when Draco didn’t take the wand and gently placed it behind the blond’s ear. Harry smiled, remembering Luna. “The other kids never talked to me, both because of their parents and because my cousin made sure I was left out of everything.”

Harry made a pregnant pause. Malfoy kept staring at him, still not able to control the way his body shook. He stared back at Harry through his tears, tough, never breaking eye contact. Harry became aware they were too close, but he did not step back.

“I got repeatedly beaten by my uncle for making little mistakes or doing things I could not control. My cousin and his gang made my life hell. My aunt never gave me enough food,” continued Harry, staring at those stormy-grey eyes, tainted with pain and sorrow. “When I came to Hogwarts, things got better, but I still had some bullies over here to torment me,” Harry tipped his chin forward at Malfoy. “And people talked behind my back when they thought I was responsible for the attacks and for opening the Chamber of Secrets.”

Malfoy swallowed hard, his stance becoming more defensive as Harry carried on: “I never caught a break. Everybody I’ve ever loved had a target on their backs just by associating with me,” Harry brought up his hand and began to count off on his fingers. “My parents, my godfather, Remus Lupin, the Weasleys,” Harry kept counting, feeling a bit out of breath. “The entire Order of the Phoenix! My best friends were hunted and almost killed several times. During the Battle, everybody in the castle was threatened. Voldemort,” and he huffed when Malfoy cringed at hearing that name, “ _ would kill every single one of them _ if I didn’t surrender myself to him _. _ You see,” Harry splayed his hands, his eyebrows rising as if he was talking about the weather rather than a list of unfortunate events, “I know, better than anyone, how it feels to have a target on my back.”

Malfoy seemed like a clam, with the way he was trying to shrink in on himself. His cheeks became red as an apple. That blush was spreading down to his neck. Harry adjusted the strap on his own shoulder and kept looking at Malfoy.

Those pink, cracked lips opened; then, Malfoy said quietly “You must feel vindicated to see me like that, then.”

Harry finally dropped his gaze to consider those words. It took him some minutes, but when he seemed sure his answer would be a good one, he locked gazes with Malfoy again.

“If I’ve ever learned anything from all this, it’s that sometimes we should be careful what we wish for,” Harry told Malfoy and felt amused at how the grey eyes widened. Harry was sure Malfoy wasn’t expecting such an answer. “At one point, I wished you’d feel, someday, how it was to be treated as if you’re worthless. I wished you’d feel alone, with no parents to hug you and tell you that everything would get better.” Harry tipped his head to the side, considering Malfoy. “But now? It’s quite painful to watch. Instead, I began to just wish that every time I saw you struggling somehow, that you’d have accepted Dumbledore’s offer back then.” Harry swallowed, falling silent.

Malfoy knew Harry was at the Astronomy Tower that fateful night – Harry had had to tell that to the Wizengamot during his trial to relieve the boy from the accusation of participating in murder. They had to know Malfoy’s family was under threat, which led him to do what he had done. He was guilty of plotting and invasion, but not murder. Of that, Harry had absolved Malfoy from guilt in his own heart a long time ago.

“It gives me no pleasure in seeing your misery… Draco.”

Malfoy lowered his head. Harry held his arms, thinking the blond would fall, perhaps. Fortunately, Malfoy didn’t. Harry widened his eyes when he felt his own magic curling around the blond protectively; Malfoy seemed to sense that as well, as he shivered once because of the sudden contact. Harry kept his hands on the blond’s arms, holding despite the pain of those thorns pricking at his palms and fingers. Harry still had some scratches and punctures on his hands and arms from the night Malfoy had a panic attack. When Harry felt Malfoy trying to free himself of his hold, Harry held him tighter.

“There’s a lot of unresolved shit between us, but” Harry emphasised the ‘but’, attracting those grey eyes to his lips momentarily – Harry noticed that vaguely –, “I think it’d be better if we put it aside and tried to just… not antagonise each other.” Harry said softly, feeling awkward for a moment.  _ Am I being stupid in some way?  _ He decided to think that over later. Harry fetched his own wand and brought it up, cleaning Malfoy from the clinging dust. “Let’s try that, alright? We’ve gone through a lot and… I just don’t feel like fighting anymore.”

Malfoy pursed his lips –  _ have they always been slightly full like that? _ Slowly, Malfoy’s thorns retreated inside the pale skin. It took Harry a moment to see some of them were vanishing and, in their place, vines began to surge along the tattoos on Malfoy’s skin.

They let the silence fall around them. It was not an awkward one, surprisingly. Tension released from Malfoy’s body as the minutes ticked by and his breathing returned to normal. Harry kept watching him closely, his expression, too, softening as he perceived the blond’s progress. Malfoy raised his hands and closed cold fingers around Harry’s forearms.

Harry thought Malfoy did it to better steady himself since he wasn’t sure how else to interpret the blond accepting physical support from him. Nevertheless, Harry stood still, and waited, while he enjoyed the proximity. From this close, he could observe the lines drawn on Malfoy’s skin. Harry saw, too, that they seemed more alive. The stems had a soft green hue, the same shade of laurel. Harry saw a lot of leaves here and there on the exposed skin, but his attention was captured by a thin stem that seemed to grow and curl up... up... up... until it reached Malfoy’s jawline.

Harry watched as a big teardrop formed in Malfoy’s left eye. The blond did not seem to notice-  _ Maybe he’s distracted because of my magic acting weird? _ Harry held his breath while following the trail that teardrop made. It rolled down Malfoy’s cheekbone, following the angles and soft curves of his face, and paused at his jawline. From that exact same spot, a tiny bud surged from the stem’s tip and slowly, quite lazily, it began to bloom. It had hundreds of long, delicate petals that curled outward from its centre. The tiny flower was a beautiful lilac colour.

Harry’s eyes lifted to Malfoy’s, assessing his expression. Malfoy still seemed distracted. Harry became aware that Malfoy's long fingers were no longer cold; his touch was warm now.  _ Strange... _ Malfoy locked eyes with Harry again. He could see the blond’s thoughts were far away, enough for the tiny flower sprouting from his face to go unnoticed. The rest of his tattoo was moving gently, as Harry saw the stems dangling inside Malfoy’s skin. The Curse seemed tamed now, behaving like any magical tattoo would – well, except for the tiny lilac bud.

Harry gauged Malfoy’s slightly sunken cheeks and resolved to break the contact, withdrawing his arms. “Here,” he started, rummaging through his bag and picking out two medium-sized copper packets. Harry put the packets in Malfoy’s hands, smiling up to the blond. “You look like you're going to faint,” he pointed out.

Malfoy frowned at the packet, turning it around so he could read what was written on it in white letters. When none of it made sense, he looked back up at Harry. “What’s this?”

“ _ Bolinho de chuva _ and  _ bolinho de arroz _ ,” Harry said proudly with a lopsided smile. “A traditional dessert and a ‘baked good’ from Brazil, respectively.” As expected, Malfoy looked sceptical. “This one,” Harry pointed to the  _ bolinho de chuva _ packet, “is like a doughnut, but you’re supposed to cover them only in sugar and cinnamon,” Harry explained. It showed a plate filled with several puffs of golden-brown raindrop-shaped deep-fried batter. “This one,” Harry pointed to the packet that had a plate of crispy, lumpy golden-brown balls on its front “is  _ bolinho de arroz _ . It’s made of rice, dough, parsley, and chives all mixed together and deep-fried. They’re quite good.”

Malfoy’s expression relaxed. He even looked interested, glancing down at the packs. “Thanks…” he mumbled, distractedly rubbing his cuff at his face.

Another flower sprouted, small as the first one. It was a beautiful shade of yellow, with five petals and twelve anthers in its centre.

“Well, I guess that’s a ‘yes’ to our truce,” Harry smirked, plucking the two flowers from Malfoy’s skin and walking away from the blond before he could react properly. “Thanks for the flowers, by the way,” Harry waved them at Malfoy, who looked stricken by the gesture and at Harry’s words. Harry had to hold the flowers with his index finger and thumb to avoid destroying them. “Catch you later!”

Harry had been afraid of hurting Malfoy; but when he saw another pair of flowers sprout at the very place from where he plucked the ones currently in his hands, Harry felt relieved.

Malfoy just stood there, looking at Harry’s back. His books were hovering close to him, courtesy of Harry, but Malfoy seemed to pay no attention to them.

Later, when he had some time alone in his bed with  _ A Study of Foul Floral Curses _ , Harry would learn those flowers he picked were a chrysanthemum and an agrimony.  _ Cheerfulness and thankfulness. _

**

Draco Malfoy was completely confused.

Once again Potter had saved him; Draco was overcome with mixed feelings. After telling Blaise, Pansy, and Theo what had happened – and hearing thousands of apologies for them leaving him alone to study Alchemy at the library –, Draco remained silent while they talked excitedly about his ‘new relationship status’.

“Oh, D,” Pansy let out a contented sigh, pretending to swoon to piss Draco off, “it’s so beautiful seeing you finally hooking up with Potter!”

Draco stared daggers at her, but Pansy pretended not to notice, throwing herself on top of Blaise’s crossed legs. The dark-skinned boy laughed out loud, playing with Pansy’s new hair colour. Draco had cursed her hair into a neon pink colour – Pansy hated pink –, which glowed in the dark. Pansy had cried for hours and even went to Madam Pomfrey to fix it, but the Healer could do nothing. Apparently, it would fade away, so she had to wait it out. Just what Draco schemed.

Theo had escaped Draco’s wrath after the blond had kicked Potter out of his dorm room. Blaise, however, wasn’t so lucky, and had his hair cursed to fall out. That one, Madam Pomfrey had successfully found a potion to help him with. Blaise liked his new hairstyle so much, though, that he only applied Madam Pomfrey’s Hair-Growing Potion on the top. Blaise had ended up with a curly undercut, which suited his angular face.

The four of them were sitting on three enormous puff pillows they transfigured from three chairs. They had moved them closer to the window magically showing the Black Lake in Merlin’s Tower. Draco and Theo each sat on one, while Pansy shared with Blaise. Sometimes, Draco thought she acted more like a cat than Potter while in his cat form, since Pansy enjoyed laying around in strange positions – like now, sprawled on top of Blaise’s thighs.

All of them were too full after supper, and laziness set on them. Especially Draco, after eating what Potter had given him  _ and _ what was on the feast at the Great Hall.

“How do you feel,” Theo said, peeking from under his long bangs, “being in a  _ Shadowship  _ with Potter?”

Blaise joined in, “Does it feel wonderful like you thought it would, to be the centre of Potter’s obsession – I mean,  _ ahem _ , attention –  _ again _ ?”

“Is he going to be shadowing you every second of every day?” asked Pansy.

“Will he protect us too?” squealed Theo, batting his eyelashes and pretending to swoon too.

“If he’s protecting you, I want to be  _ under _ Potter’s protection too,” Blaise pestered.

“Oh! Just imagine, boys,” Pansy splayed her hands in the air as if she was presenting a show, “Potter will shield Draco with his new athletic body – thank  _ Circe _ he’s not a skinny fucker anymore, it would definitely  _ hurt _ to shag him, I tell you! – and maybe he’ll kiss his hand after saving him from hexes!”

“It’ll be a delight!” Blaise put his hands above his heart, and like Theo, batted his eyelashes at Draco, “Having this  _ dashing _ ,  _ courageous, stupid _ boy following you around!”

“He might ask for somebody else to follow me around!” Draco chimed in. “Stop it.”

Theo cackled, throwing himself backwards on the puff, “Now I wish I had a way of capturing one of your Potter-rants to broadcast somewhere for everyone to see!” Theo trilled, ignoring Draco completely, talking between his laughter. “People believe you don’t like him, but  _ if they only knew-” _

“That was ages ago!”

“Fourth year!” Pansy reminded Draco.

“Fourth year  _ my arse _ !” Theo shot back. “Lemme fetch Terry and you’ll-”

“It was a stupid, little childhood crush!” Draco hissed, looking around in concern. “And sit down, Nott.”

“Nothing about Potter is little,” Blaise insinuated. “Need I remind you that from the littlest attention he paid to you, you started to  _ bloom _ for him?”

Draco gaped at them. The pink-haired Slytherin was polishing her nails while the dark-skinned boy was curling her hair around his finger. Theo had a gleeful sparkle in his brown eyes, one Draco hadn’t seen in his eyes for a very long time. That meant he was up to no good. Draco forgot how they loved teasing him about his past crush on Potter. “No- that’s- he’s- for Salazar, mind your own business.”

“Oh, can’t deny it anymore?” Theo chortled. “Maybe that’s your chance, D!” He smiled indulgently to Draco, continuing, “Potter  _ himself _ asked for the two of you to put all the shit behind you and move on, to try to be nice towards each other!” Theo’s tone was reassuring, but Draco did not feel appeased. “You know, I heard him talking a few days ago about not sleeping much,” quipped Theo, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “Maybe he can stay with you, on your bed, and ‘keep watch’ so you can sleep peacefully like you did that day.”

Draco knew which day Theo was talking about. That day Potter stayed a whole day on his bed, watching him sleep. Madam Pomfrey had been called urgently to give Draco a Calming Draught, an Invigorating Draught, and, after Draco seemed way better, to administer him a Dreamless Sleep Potion. However, his friends told him Potter refused to leave his side until Draco woke up.

Professor McGonagall had been aware of Draco’s situation and gave both boys a sick leave for the day. After a panic attack, she thought better for Draco to not be left alone. Theo also had a panic attack that day, and Longbottom had stayed with him. He had been the one to calm Theo down by helping him slow his breathing and maintain his consciousness.

Draco would have woken up the first time and stayed awake if it wasn’t for Potter sleeping close to him in his Animagus form. Draco couldn’t lie; it had been a comfort. He had slept soundly and felt blessedly rested afterward.

Draco hadn't even told his friends that, but there was no need. His mood had improved splendidly and the bags under his eyes had reduced a bit. They’d miss it only if they were blind.

“If Potter accidentally lays on top of you, well… it’s not as if you’d mind, right?” Pansy teased him, making Blaise and Theo laugh. “We saw how  _ hot and bothered _ you got just by seeing Potte-”

Draco lurched forward and put both hands over Pansy’s mouth, shutting her up. “Don't. You. Dare.” Draco hissed, looking everywhere to see if anybody had overheard him. “You three, stop it.”

Theo and Blaise were still looking at Draco with those ear-splitting smiles.

“Aw, don’t get your knickers in a twist, D” cooed Theo, messing Draco’s hair until the blond huffed and backed away from Pansy, getting out of Theo’s reach. “We’re just  taking the piss !”

“To hell with the three of you,” Draco fired back, crossing his arms and sulking against his puff pillow. It was almost swallowing him up.

“Come on now” Blaise started, his face becoming serious in a heartbeat, “this is good, Draco. People look at Potter as if he’s a god after the war. It won’t hurt to have him on our side.” the slender boy reasoned. Theo shook his head in agreement. “It’s getting tiring, all this ‘pranking’ about. I don’t want to redo my homework if someone replaces my Drooble's Best Blowing Gum with a Nosebleed Nougat  _ again _ .”

“Or getting hexed in the hallways,” added Pansy.

“Or shoved,” Theo contributed.

“Or getting our things stolen and hidden somewhere in the castle…” Draco concluded, emitting a long, long sigh. All of them seemed to deflate at once. That was a clear sign to Draco that his things weren’t the only ones hidden around the school. That was…

“SHIT!” shouted Millicent Bulstrode.

Draco had only a moment to see what was happening before it reached him and his friends. Somebody had put Flooding Goo in Millicent’s satchel. She was by the shelves, rummaging through her things when the Goo exploded and began to flood the common room. Draco noticed that many eighth-year Slytherins were in the common room.

“Prot-”

They were all swallowed by the black, stinking goo in seconds. Blaise didn't even have time to take out his wand. The goo receded before it could drown them, and became a black stinking layer over every surface and person it had touched.

Draco opened his eyes, feeling the thick layer clinging to his skin, clothes, and hair. He assessed his friends, who were just as bad as he was. Every Slytherin in the common room was frozen in place, too stunned to emit a sound or make a single movement.

There was a collective sigh, then everybody startled when another explosion reverberated through the castle. One didn’t have to be a genius to conclude it came from the dungeons; more specifically, the Slytherin common room.

**

McGonagall was not pleased.

After the Flooding Goo explosions in the common rooms of Merlin Tower and Slytherin; McGonagall headed to Merlin’s common room since the first explosion was set off in there. Flitwick, Sinistra, Kowalski, and Sprout were with her, while the other Professors went to the Slytherin common room with Slughorn.

When McGonagall arrived, she stared in horror at them all. The rest of the eighth-years had followed her there. McGonagall tried to squeeze the truth out of the students, looking for the person responsible for the explosions that caused the mess. Basically, there were several targets that exploded around the school, all of them placed near Slytherin students. The other teachers were in the library, the Great Hall, and some classrooms. The eighth-year Slytherins currently in the room, though, only stared dejectedly at the scene, too tired to be mad. They were exhausted to the point of not wanting to find the guilty party, only caring to wash away that putrid layer of goo covering themselves. 

As Draco started to leave, his eyes quickly roamed over the crowd. He spotted a pair of green eyes observing him from the other side of the room. Potter was clearly pissed but also worried. Draco felt a surge of satisfaction that turned into a full-body blush. He thanked Merlin for being covered in goo; that way, Potter couldn’t see him blushing like a first-year schoolboy.

While McGonagall was giving an epic lecture to the ashamed students, all the Slytherins excused themselves and started towards the showers. While the Slytherins were furiously washing away that blasted goo, Draco wasn’t aware of what had happened downstairs. Since every room had four stalls, there was no fighting over who would go first. Draco was the only one using the showers in his shared room,  _ thanks to Salazar. _

After two hours of incessant scrubbing and vials upon vials of scented soapy potions later, the Slytherins slowly made their way down to the common room.

“You did the right thing,” Professor Flitwick said to them all. “If this had dried out, it would have been nearly impossible to remove it.”

Another collective sigh.  _ Gosh, were they tired… _ Draco cringed from the mental image of permanently stinking and walking with that horrendous goo all over himself.

“This is unacceptable!” Professor McGonagall thundered to the other students. The eighth-years of other houses had to stay and clean – and disinfect – every surface and crevice of the common rooms – Merlin’s and Slytherin’s – and also the library, the Great Hall and some classrooms. While they worked – apparently, Sprout was the one who had brought buckets of a cleaning concoction that would remove the goo and the stench –, all the Professors stayed and talked in hushed tones. Only half of the common room was clean after two hours of meticulous labour.

McGonagall continued: “At the Start-of-Term Feast I had reminded every single one of you about our zero-tolerance policy against bullying! This behaviour is despicable! You’re all adults under Wizarding Law, and although I understand you’ve had to go through too much for your age, this is  _ not _ ” her voice amplified as if she had used a Sonorus, causing the working students to flinch, “an acceptable way of dealing with the aftermath of the war! If I see anything similar happening again, there will be consequences!” Draco felt satisfied. “By Monday, if the person responsible does not step forward, each and every one of you will have extra work to do in the castle and with the teachers!” McGonagall threatened, crossing her arms and looking as stern as ever.

The boys and girls seemed to gulp in distress.

“And the therapy sessions with St. Mungo’s Healers will be mandatory. Both individual  _ and  _ group therapy! Madam Pomfrey will be required to send me reports of students missing their appointments as well.” McGonagall announced, then started to turn on her heels.

“Professor?”

McGonagall stopped, looking at the person who spoke up. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“I was thinking, ma’am... since the D.A. reopened this year as well, and everybody enjoyed the duelling classes,” Potter said, smiling towards Professor Édme Kowalski, their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She was a renowned Auror that also became the new Head of the Duelling Club at the start of term. “I was thinking we could help the teachers in maintaining the hallways free of bullying,” he said, then quickly added, “If you allow it, of course.”

Professor McGonagall pondered for a bit. All Slytherins began to talk in hushed tones, and Draco looked to the side, to Blaise's smug face. Draco felt Pansy shaking with repressed laughter behind him.  _ Bitch _ . Theo was behind Blaise, avoiding Draco as much as he could.

“Yes, you may, Mr. Potter.” McGonagall conceded, flashing a smile before turning around and leaving. Only Professor Aurora Sinistra, the new Gryffindor Head of House, remained. The Headmistress left the common room with the other Professors, heading to the other houses. Draco found Potter’s eyes.

A shiver ran down his spine.

**

Finally, it was Saturday.

Well, the small hours that preceded Saturday, actually. It had not exactly dawned yet. Theo had gone to his room, the one he shared with Blaise, Longbottom and Thomas, to try and catch up some sleep. Draco had remained alone in the common room, reading. It was nearing one in the morning when he finally put down the Potions book.

Draco figured it ought to be better to try and sleep, or even doze off for a little while. He figured it was about time to drag himself up the stairs. As Draco prepared to stand up from the still-smelly armchair, he suddenly felt a tingling sensation on the back of his head.

Draco looked around the room and the huge, black hairy cat perched on the back of the long, leather-bound couch on the opposite side startled him out of his mind.

_ “Salazar’s knickers!”  _ Draco let out a yelp, tightly holding the thin blanket up to his chin. “Stop lurking around unnoticed, Potter! This is getting creepier, you coming out of nowhere like a bloody Grim or some  _ sinister  _ omen-ish apparition!” Draco complained, blushing from being caught off guard. “Quit it!”

Potter mewled, stretching his body while scratching his claws on the sofa. Draco threw the blanket on Potter to make him stop puncturing the leather. The form under the blanket grew, and when the blanket was shoved off, Potter had turned back, staring amusedly at Draco.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Potter just chuckled.

“Something like that,” Draco murmured, massaging the place above his heart, as if the motion would help calm it down to a steady beating.

“You’ll resort to potions tonight?”

“I can’t,” Draco frowned, letting out a heavy sigh. “My stash’s almost over.”

“Pity, then.”

Draco started chewing on his lower lip, awkwardly looking everywhere to not stare fixedly at Potter. Potter was dressed in black, loose pyjamas that looked worn, but not in an old sort of way. The sleeves covered his hands in an endearing way. Draco bit harder on his lower lip, chastising himself for such a thought.

“Better be on my way, then...”

Potter kept looking at him, in that sleepy sort of way, with half-lidded eyes and relaxed expression.  _ He seems tired… _ Draco mused.

“Do you want to…” Draco trailed off, contracting his shoulders, suddenly feeling like a pervert to ask such a thing. “Nevermind.”

“To…?” Potter echoed, elongating the word while looking up sceptically.

Draco seemed bashful all of a sudden. Potter frowned. They kept staring at each other like that, one too confused and the other too shy to say anything more. It continued to the point of Draco starting to shiver. Alas, and Draco thought that living in a Tower would be warmer...

Finally, Draco rolled his eyes, hugging himself to keep up the warmth, “Just forget it.”

“Nope.”

Draco made a face. “It’s… stupid.”

“Are you seriously going to spend the rest of the night sitting here and looking at me… that way? Just spill it out already,” Potter rolled his eyes, making Draco blush.

That seemed to shake Draco off that awkward silence. “Um, I was trying to… uh, trying to ask if you... would mind sleeping in my bed… again.” Draco’s voice kept lowering at every spoken word, making Potter lean closer to better listen to his words, scrunching up his face even more.

That made the black-haired man blush up to the roots of his hairline. “I-in your bed? What...”

“Ok, forget it.”

“N-no, sorry!” Potter flailed for a bit, waving his hands. “I just- I wasn’t expecting you to ask something like that!” Harry rushed to explain. “You just- seem to prefer to be left on your own, that’s all.”

An awkward silence fell upon them.

“So, you want to hold my hand while you sleep?”

Draco glared at him, feeling the vein on his temples pulse in irritation. “If you’re going to be a bastard about it-”

“I’m sorry!” When Draco didn’t seem appeased, Harry added: “I promise to not make fun of you again.”

Draco kept glaring at him, noticing a mischievous gleam in Potter’s eyes. However, the black-haired man couldn’t hold it any longer and blurted: “Maybe you’ll cuddle me to keep nightmares at bay, like a first-year?”

Draco slowly rose from the couch and marched to the stairs.

“I was kidding! I’m done, I swear.”

“Bye, Potter.”

“Aw, you’re so moody when you don’t take your naps!”

Draco fumed silently, his face as red as a beetroot.

“Okay, now seriously,” Potter followed Draco closely, as his voice sounded louder. Draco refused to turn, though. “You’re fine with me in your bed?”

Draco looked back for a moment, grimacing at the black-haired boy. “How the hell did you manage to shag Weasley and Chang by acting like that?” Draco blurted before he could think better. His face became warmer and his blushing deepened, but Draco, being as stubborn as he was, kept his stance.

Potter looked at him strangely, gaping. “...uh, my charms?”

“What charms?”

Draco opened the dormitory door and entered the hallway leading to several doors, each leading to a room with four beds and their respective occupants.  _ Potter, in my bed? What in the name of Salazar is happening? Why am I being stupid like this? Pull yourself together, man…  _ Draco chided himself.

“My natural charm, of course,” Potter said quietly behind him. He was indeed following the blond.  _ Good _ , Draco thought smugly. Then, he backtracked.  _ No, pull yourself together. He’s just acting like a goddamn saint – which was not an act at all, making him even more infuriating –, as usual. Stop it! _

“Keep deluding yourself with that,” Draco sniggered, feeling that fluttering in his stomach begin.  _ So not the time. _

“Not a delusion if they’d said to my face ‘I’m a charming man’?”

Draco turned his head, sneering at Potter, “They’re all mad  _ and _ liars. You have nothing charming in you, Potter. Besides, even if you did, this whole awkward demeanor would be a mood-killer.”

Harry hummed. “And we’ve come to talk about my charms, how…? You think I’m trying to get into your pants or something?”

Draco sputtered, blushing harder. He stopped at the door to his room, his hand on the doorknob.

“No!” He snapped, making Potter shush him. Even if they were outside the room, it was possible to be heard by the men in the other rooms. Lowering his voice this time, Draco began, “I just brought that up because you’re too... awkward, sometimes. One would think you’re a maniac, with the way you act!”

_ “How?” _ Harry said indignantly and this time, Draco had to be the one doing the shushing.

“You’re too… You know,” Draco sniffled, adjusting his hair. “You turned a simple question into an awkward situation, Potter. It’s not a big deal, you being in my bed.” Draco said, and this time he was the one cringing. Gosh, this was getting worse by the minute. “Truce, and all that bullshite.”

Potter huffed a laugh. “Yeah, truce…” he mumbled, mussing up his hair. “Anyway, just figured I’d be here doing something. I was driving Ron up the wall with my tossing and turning.”

“Watching me sleep is something better, then?” Draco whispered, deciding to tease the other man. “That’s what I’m talking about! You turn everything into an awkward situation, you creep-”

“I didn't mean it like that!”

“Oh, shush, Potty, would you?” Draco turned with a playful roll of his eyes and opened the door, entering his room. He picked his pyjamas out of his trunk and headed to the bathroom. When he exited, Potter was leaning against one of the columns while watching Draco walk around, readying his bed to sleep. The blond did it so quietly, the only sounds disturbing the silence in the room were the snoring and the occasional fart from other beds.

Draco watched him for a beat or two, still thinking it was strange to see Potter in there. In his bed, where he would lie down and sleep.  _ So strange to be around him and not fight.. _ . At the same time, though, Draco couldn’t help feeling relaxed. The memory of Potter on his bed in cat form was still fresh in his mind: the huge cat’s belly exposed, letting it be petted for his enjoyment.

Potter rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and legs while lying on the foot of the bed. Draco stared a bit more, amused beyond belief.  _ Saint Potter is in my bed. Not the way I pictured it, but... _ Draco sighed, finally sliding under the covers. He blew out the magical candle on his nightstand and the room fell into darkness. Draco felt a thrumming under his skin from feeling Potter’s weight beside his legs. Potter didn’t seem to feel cold, since he did not pull the covers over himself. That made Draco remember how warm he had been that day...  _ No, don’t go there _ .

Suddenly, Potter’s legs weren’t against Draco’s anymore. The blond raised his head a bit, and saw a cat-shaped shadow on his bed, turning over and over on a specific spot. Potter did not seem content in there and jumped in the spot between Draco’s feet. Potter finally settled and decided to start making biscuits there. Draco could not hold back the amused grin that split his face. The loud purring that came afterwards only made Draco shake with repressed laughter.  _ Potter  _ was  _ making biscuits  _ between  _ Draco’s  _ feet.  _ On Draco’s bed. _

He had no idea how he would sleep with Potter between his legs. The thrumming inside his skin only grew. In the darkness, Blaise’s past words came back to taunt him:  _ ‘Need I remind you that from the littlest attention he paid to you, you started to  _ bloom  _ for him?’ _

Draco sighed, already feeling a flower blooming somewhere near his wrist. It was a soft, gentle movement against his skin. It was quite a pleasant sensation, one he thought he would never feel again. Draco was more confused than relieved, knowing that things were not that simple. And what was even worse: he wouldn’t even have privacy to better understand that whirlwind of emotions. Everything Draco felt was there, in plain sight. Made public.  _ At least he doesn’t know what they mean,  _ Draco felt reassured with that.

Draco stared at the covered ceiling in his four-poster bed, listening to Potter’s loud purring. His mind drifted to several things, all disconnected thoughts, while the comforting sensation only spread through his limbs. The last thing Draco remembered was thinking Potter felt warm, even through all the layers between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to see what a [bolinho de arroz](https://receitasincriveis.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/receita-de-bolinho-de-arroz-facil-700x400.jpg) and a [bolinho de chuva](https://s2.glbimg.com/vrrpnCixBsu6h6dDK1bX-h7JNyA=/0x0:450x334/984x0/smart/filters:strip_icc\(\)/s.glbimg.com/po/rc/media/2012/06/13/14/49/50/551/bolinho_de_chuva_f8_1525.jpg) looks like, I decided to tag them :D


	5. Darkest memories, gruesome dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's nightmare affect his body and he suspects they're more than something made up by his broken, conflicted mind. There's a call from the darkness.

> _You heard the shadow reckoning_
> 
> _Then your fears seemed to keep you blinded_   
>  _You held your guard as you walked away_
> 
> _When you think all is forsaken_   
>  _Listen to me now (all is not forsaken)_   
>  _You need never feel broken again_   
>  _Sometimes darkness can show you the light_
> 
> _– The Light,_ **Adam Lambert**

_A high-pitched laugh._

_The sound reverberated through Draco’s body, making his hairs stand on end. He opened his eyes. Everything was pure, pitch-black darkness. Draco couldn’t see where it came from, or whom. A sudden flash of light blinded him momentarily. The next thing Draco became aware of was a distinct feeling that someone was staring at him. He walked forward, barefoot. As Draco approached, a mirroring image of himself began to appear. He extended a hand and stared, surprised, at the cold surface his fingertip touched. Something was separating them. The Mirror-Draco’s image rippled, disturbed Draco’s fingertip touching the mirror surface. Mirror-Draco followed the rippling waves with his grey eyes; suddenly, he focussed on his counterpart, and peals of laughter burst from deep within his crooked smile. It was loud and fiendish, nothing like Draco’s usual laughter. That wasn’t a mirrored image of himself, then? He couldn't be._

_Mirror-Draco’s full pink lips began to pale; he slowly parted them, and to Draco’s horror, a green snake slithered its way out from his mouth. Mirror-Draco raised his hands and placed them on the mirror’s frame – Draco could not see the frame, though. The darkness seemed thick enough to engulf everything, becoming one with the mirror frame and the background behind Mirror-Draco’s side._

_“You know what to do, sweetheart,” Mirror-Draco whispered. Every time he closed his lips while talking, the snake moved sinuously in agitation. “Just come to me, dead man walking.” Mirror-Draco spoke with an amorous tone like he was staring at an exquisite object. “I am tired of your lineage, boy.…” His voice echoed in the darkness. “Just give up...”_

Draco opened his eyes the following morning, immediately realising there was not enough air in his lungs.

The first thing he laid eyes on, was the boy in front of him: Harry Potter. He was half-hidden in shadows, as the curtains on Draco’s bed had been partially closed at some point during the night. Draco could clearly see one of his eyes, twinkling like emeralds due to the pale light of the dawn that began to invade the room.

 _“Brea... me,”_ Potter said, but his voice sounded far, far away, as Draco’s blood seemed to thunder in his ears and consequently deafened most sound in the room.

“What?”

 _“Breathe,”_ Potter said, motioning at his own chest. Potter began to fill his lungs slowly, breathing in deeply until he couldn’t bear any more. Draco scrunched up his face in confusion, trying to mimic. Distantly, Draco could make out the gasping wheeze of his own breathing. It was horrible; he sounded completely out of air.

Draco locked eyes with Potter, and the man seemed calm. They both breathed slowly – or, in Draco’s case, as slowly as he could manage at the moment. Unfortunately, the room was stuffy. His heart hammered against his ribcage painfully. Draco became aware of burning pain in his chest… but his head was fuzzy. Draco shook his head, trying to clear it, but when it was ineffective, he scrambled to his feet and tossed the covers away.

“ _What... need_ ?” Potter was talking again, but Draco’s ears were ringing. Draco’s eyes shot everywhere, trying to make sense of where he was. “ _...do you...need?_ ” Potter’s voice sounded muffled, distant, distorted.

“Air,” Draco said breathlessly. He shut his eyes.

The next thing he saw was Potter standing in front of him, hands held high in the air. Potter seemed to be counting something, as he lowered one finger, waited, then lowered another. Draco looked at Potter’s chest and saw him breathing in slowly. He mimicked and found his own lungs filling with cold, fresh air. Potter had magically opened the windows, allowing the morning air to enter the room.

Finnegan, Macmillan, and Boot were standing close to Draco’s four-poster bed, looking at him with wariness. Draco registered that only because he saw Potter’s hand make a ‘stay there’ gesture. A long, long time passed while Potter and Draco stood like that: eyes locked, chests rising and falling in sync. Inhaling deeply. Slowly exhaling. Repeating, as Draco leaned his sweat-slicked back against the cool glass window closest to his bed.

The other men were completely still. Draco’s hearing returned progressively, allowing him to finally distinguish things apart. Draco’s breathing slowed, then his heartbeat. Now he could hear the other men whispering and looking alarmed at him and Potter. Draco shivered, starting to feel his body – covered in sweat – getting colder by the minute.

“You should shower,” Potter murmured, finally breaking the silence in the room. They stood like that for so long that the sun was already high in the sky, although emitting quite a pale light. “I can practically see all your veins and your lips are already blue.”

“And you’re blee-” Finnegan started, but Potter shushed him with a harsh _‘Don’t’_.

Macmillan’s eyes lowered to Draco’s chest and paled instantly. Draco raised his eyebrows while the Hufflepuff hurriedly left the room, followed by Terry Boot. Draco began to lower his head when Potter’s hands caught his attention.

“Don’t look. Just-” Potter motioned toward the bathroom, but did not come closer to touch the blond. With a gesture, though, Potter vanished the bloodstains. “Go shower while I, er, search for your clothes. Where are they at?” No response. Draco couldn’t remember how to speak yet. “Ok… Uh, just go, Malfoy. I’ll fetch your things.”

Draco stumbled his way to the bathroom.

**

As soon as Draco had thrown his clothes over the stall walls, Potter discarded Draco’s pyjamas in the laundry basket. The blond knew that from hearing the swishing of fabric as it floated under the noise of falling water from the shower. He also came to realise that Potter did not want him to see blood and risk another panic attack.

“I can call any of your friends, if you want,” Potter prompted, to which Draco hummed in agreement. Then, only the pitter-patter of the warm shower water filled his ears. He was left alone.

**

By the time Draco exited the shower stall, he found Blaise and Theo were sitting on the floor, their backs propped against the opposite wall, close to the sinks.

“Where… is he?”

Blaise gave him a tired smile, pulling himself to his feet. “He left. Thought it was better to leave you with friends instead of, and I quote, ‘a stranger’.” Blaise snorted, caressing the short hair at the nape of Draco’s neck. “He slept in your bed, calmed you from a nightmare-induced panic attack,” Blaise caught the towel that Theo picked from the sinks and threw at the blond’s face, wrapping it around Draco, “but he _still_ thinks he’s overstepping by staying afterwards.”

“You two,” Theo clucked his tongue in amusement, also pulling himself up from the floor. “So complicated. This penchant of yours for the dramatics is more entertaining than all _doramas_ I’ve secretly listened to on the WWN.” That made Blaise snort. “Things would be much simpler if you two shagged already.”

Draco shot him a nasty glare, but his tone came out more tired than bothered, “Potter and I… How many times have I already said we’ve got no chance at anything after that first day?”

“Draco…” Theo groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Stop acting based on the past, will ya?”

“There’s too much of the past affecting my life, so _forgive me_ if I’m not jumping with giddiness at finally having _Saint Potter_ ’s bloody attention, alright?”

Blaise rolled his eyes and began to rub the towel over Draco’s body. “Mhm... so you’re finally admitting to wanting it all along.”

“I’ve said no such thin-”

“You’ve gotta give him credit for being all gentlemanly and _noble_ ,” Theo cut in, batting his eyelashes to tease Draco, although the effect was diminished by his tiredness. Theo looked like he’d drop unconscious at any minute. “So dreamy! Wanting to be your plushie and all-”

“Cut it out.”

“I’ve heard he’s staying with first years from all houses day in, day out,” Blaise pointed out, towelling Draco’s hair to stop the blond from saying anything. “He’s making room in his busy schedule just for you, can you _imagine_?”

“Dashing,” Theo sighed.

“Noble!”

Theo added, bemused, “Can you imagine, having that humongous cat to cuddle with?”

“Potter _does_ look like a good blanket, I’ll give you that, makes _me_ want to cuddle the bastard.”

“Nobody’s cuddling the bastard,” protested the blond.

“But you _so_ want to,” Theo and Blaise chorused, smirking at him. “It’s all over your face, babe,” Theo gestured to Draco’s blushing cheeks.

“That cat is sinister-looking!”

“You love danger, don’t lie,” Blaise snickered.

“Do not.”

“Do too!” chorused Blaise and Theo, openly making fun of him.

“Shut it!”

“You’d totally cuddle the shit outta that ‘sinister-looking cat’.” Theo laughed, dodging Draco’s punch at his arm.

Draco disentangled himself from the towel – Blaise was trying to dry his hair as well as drown out Draco’s complaints the whole time, the wanker – and wrapped it around his waist. Draco saw the way his friends’ smiles and expressions mingled, their eyes lowering to his chest. Draco looked down, seeing the usual tangle of thorns that trailed over his ribcage and to his chest looking raw.

Over Draco’s heart, there was a big black rose that was always open with the petals revealing the Deathly Hallows symbol in the centre. It remained inside his skin, looking tattoo-ish. The only problem was: the rose was dripping blood-red ink down its petals, one fat drop at a time. It was something Draco hadn’t seen before on his body but knew what it meant. The stems and thorns moved slowly, readjusting on his skin; the drawn lines closer to his heart looked inflamed and bleeding slightly. Draco had followed Potter’s instructions and kept his eyes away from there up until now. The sight of blood made his stomach churn.

**

In the afternoon, after spending the morning in the Hospital Wing to stop the bleeding of his tattoo, Draco and his little pack of Slytherins could be found lying on a thin picnic blanket by the lake. Pansy had joined them on their way to the Wing. In the distance, Draco could see the Giant Squid’s tentacles protruding from the dark water, its movement sending tiny waves to the shore. Draco was the only one in a sitting position, looking distantly at the rippling surface.

Pansy was wearing a long lilac dress with a transparent long-sleeved shirt on top. She was barefoot now, her pair of brogues placed neatly close to the edge of the blanket, along with Draco’s, Blaise’s and Theo’s stylish ankle boots. She was sprawled on top of Blaise, who was lazily caressing her short hair. Blaise was wearing a tight turtleneck and black trousers, while Theo decided on all-white attire – a turtleneck knit top and fashionably-ripped jeans. Draco chose to wear the Slytherin jumper which gave him a sense of comfort paired with tight black jeans; notMuggle though. Despite not vilifying them anymore, Draco was still not there yet – wearing Muggle attire, that is; and Theo too, apparently, but Draco thought it was more for the sake of keeping up appearances.

Saturday was warmer than the previous day, but not by much. Occasionally a chilling breeze would pass them. “Isn’t it perfect?” Theo said contentedly about the weather. He had his head propped on Draco’s thighs. Of course, the blond took that as an invitation to play with his friend’s straight hair as he pleased.

“To you,” Blaise answered sleepily. “If it was up to me, it would be summer all year long.”

“No, snow would be better,” Draco put in distractedly.

“Yes!” Pansy agreed with him, raising her hand to get something from the pile of goods they had arranged in the middle of the picnic blanket. “I miss playing in the snow…” she commented, biting into the cauldron cake. “I can’t remember when was the last time we did it,” All the young men murmured in agreement to that. “I also miss your singing, Draco. I hope you don’t quit music classes nor choir as well, it’d be a pity.”

Draco snorted but did not answer. He was still debating if he’d quit those extra activities as well. A comfortable silence fell between them, despite Draco’s lack of response. Draco kept playing with Theo’s piercings and rings on his left ear while he stared into the distance. Theo had put them on this morning, just to see if some style would diverge the attention from his overall pale, too-thin, sleep-deprived appearance.

“She finally came for me,” Draco said in a barely-audible whisper.

Pansy sat upright and looked back at him, but Blaise lowered his eyes. However, Theo opened his almond-shaped eyes and looked up to Draco sympathetically. They all had their attention on Draco, but the blond did not move his eyes from the faraway mountains. He opened and closed his mouth several times, at a loss for words; his eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Draco…” whispered Blaise, placing a comforting hand on the blond’s shoulder. “Take as long as you need. We’re not going anywhere if you want to talk.”

It took a long time, but none of them broke the silence. It seemed all of them were holding their breaths collectively. The Giant Squid floated around, squirting water out in the air. It enjoyed splashing students if they were too close to where it was swimming. Fortunately, it wasn’t swimming close to the bay, for which Draco was immensely grateful.

“ _Papi_ said it would happen eventually,” Draco swallowed hard, tugging carefully at Theo’s ear cuff, so as not to hurt him. “Usually Death comes after one of us Malfoys when we are older or struggling too much with emotions.”

“I remember you mentioning that in our fifth year,” Pansy said.

“Old Abraxas was getting bad back then, wasn’t he?” Blaise asked, using ‘old’ more as a way of affection rather than an insult. “My mum was shocked to hear of his passing. He was relatively young, for a wizard.”

“He was.” Draco croaked a short answer to both questions, blinking slowly. “It was a tough blow to him when my papa got imprisoned. _Papi_ warned me when he saw me training Occlumency.” Draco told them. “He said there was a high chance of worsening my… condition. And here _She_ is, just like he’d said she would...”

Blaise cocked his head, thinking. “But it isn’t because of the Occlumency,” he stated.

“No,” Draco said quietly. “Not entirely, at least. After everything, to have Occlumency fuck me over like that would be quite…” he trailed off with a humourless laugh.

“Draco…” Pansy seemed on the verge of crying, but Draco couldn’t turn to face her and risk breaking down. “You have to try and fight back.”

Draco growled, snapping back at her, “Don't you think I’m trying?” He adjusted his hair nervously. “Also, it’s not exactly _easy_ , Pansy. We’re not talking about palpable things, like a potion or a particularly difficult spell to perform. It’s _fucking_ feelings.” Silence fell again. Draco threw his head back in defeat, sniffling. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you like that… It’s not your fault.”

Draco was trying to hold back tears, but it seemed too much. He felt desperate and resigned at the same moment. “I am tired of trying… Nothing seems to work, anyway.”

“You can’t give up,” Pansy pleaded.

Blaise and Theo didn’t need to say anything. The looks on their faces conveyed enough.

“She said my time’s running out,” Draco told them in a hushed tone.

“WHAT!?” they all exclaimed.

“That’s unfair!” retorted Theo.

“Wait, are you sure it was her?”

“Of course I’m sure, Blaise.”

“B-but,” Theo sputtered, sitting upright. “That’s unfair!” he repeated.

“Since when has Death been fair to my family?” Draco pointed out. His friends’ faces fell. “She took them all too young, too soon.”

~~

**_July 7, 1984._ **

_“Draco!” Narcissa chided. She gathered the skirt of her summer dress to the side and ran after the toddler. Draco had been chasing the turnips at one moment, and the next he was dancing inside the fountain in the middle of Narcissa’s garden. Back then, his tattoos always showed beautiful blooms._

_“_ Maman _, look!” Draco had chanted, raising a tiny hand to show her_ Lethelow _, a species of funny looking fish that exhaled tiny hurricanes from their protruding mouths. It had a lime-green colour and long, flowing, downwards swooping tail. “It looks like it’s wearing a veil!”_

_“Pumpkin, drop that down immediately!” Narcissa commanded, hurrying to her son. Right at that moment, way before she could get close enough to bat away the Lethelow from his chubby hands, the magical creature blew a hurricane that shot Draco right into the air._

_“I like that!” Draco exclaimed, laughing as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening._

_“Draco!” Narcissa shouted in horror, extending her hand while Lucius came to her aid with his wand pointing upwards._

_The hurricane twirled the four-year-old boy into the air, higher and higher. It was happening so quickly that the Lethelow escaped from his hold as its body was quite slippery. Nevertheless, Draco was shoved right and left, up and down, flying closer to the Manor’s walls._

_“Maman, this is fun!” Draco giggled, watching bedazzled at the adults back on the ground. His grandparents, Alcyone Fawley-Malfoy and Abraxas were also trying to get him. Draco giggled louder, seeing all the colourful spells shooting up from everywhere. “Hey, Mamie!” Draco waved at Alcyone, then “Papi!” and waved to Abraxas._

_Draco was twirled several times by the hurricane. It lifted him up and over the Manor’s dark rooftop, allowing the toddler to see the diamond-paned windows shining from sunbeams. Draco had a privileged view of his Papa’s peacocks stirring about on the land. Draco only started to come down when he was thrown toward the front doors of the Manor._

_Seeing the ground coming nearer and nearer, a surge of his own magic helped him slow down the fall. Tiny feet touched the driveway and Draco buried his toes in the gravel for a bit, looking around for his parents and grandparents. Draco could hear them calling his name._

_“So funny,” the little boy giggled again._

_Something caught his eyes, then. His Grand-père – Abraxas’ father, Dominus Malfoy – was lying in the entrance hall in a funny way. A laugh reverberated through the Manor, though Draco was too young to notice its macabre undertones – he thought it was a playful laugh. Draco ran to him, thinking he was just lying there laughing, thinking about playing with Draco. The boy was about to jump onto him, when his Papa’s arms circled him and pulled him away._

_“Father!” Abraxas screamed, hurrying to his father’s aid, but it was no use._

_Draco remembered hearing Abraxas sobbing while Lucius held his head close to his chest. He took Draco away from the entrance hall, chiding him slightly for playing with dangerous creatures._

_“Ouch,_ papa _,” he complained, making a face to what had pricked him. A silvery thorn._

_“Sorry, pumpkin,” Lucius apologised, looking at his own stems with sorrow. Draco lifted his hands and caressed his face while Lucius took him back to the gardens, trying to calm him down from the – seemingly unknown – reason that had saddened him. Draco watched his father's thorns, as silver as Draco’s, retreat after a long time had passed._

_Two days later, people told him Grand-père Dominus was gone._

Draco had been too little to remember many details vividly apart from what had actually stuck to him: his need to calm his Papa.

Years later, as an eleven-year-old, he’d associated the foggy memory to Lucius being sad from Grand-père Dominus’ passing, but nothing more. It was then that Abraxas explained to Draco what had actually happened. Abraxas told him about the Curse, and how despite fighting bravely to survive to his 83 years – a rarity – Dominus Malfoy had been found with black cyclamens sprouting from his heart and thick thorns crushing his body. It was the first time Draco had cried himself to sleep, thinking about the Curse.

_~_

**_August 29, 1996._ **

_“Will he get better, Maman?” Draco asked, getting closer to his Papi’s majestic canopy bed._

_They were at Abraxas’ and Alcyone’s house, located on the Malfoy lands. It wasn’t as huge as the Manor, which was the main estate where the Heirs lived, but it was just as opulent. While the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord were in the Manor, the remaining family stayed with Abraxas. Narcissa had not allowed Bellatrix to come, since she knew how Abraxas was disturbed by her – and the other Death Eaters’ – presence._

_“You know he won’t, pumpkin,” Narcissa whispered, sitting in the armchair beside the bed. The circles under her eyes derived from Draco’s newly given mission. Alcyone had a pair of those too. “His suffering will end soon, I hope.”_

_Just then, Abraxas started to have a coughing fit. Blood came down from his mouth and fell on his pillow and covers. Draco came to his aid while Narcissa waved her wand and performed a_ Tergeo _to clean up the mess._

_“Hey, Papi,” Draco murmured a greeting when Abraxas’ grey eyes focussed on his face._

_“You must flee, my boy-” Abraxas began, but another round of coughing interrupted him. Alcyone sat on the bed, opposite Draco. She held her husband’s trembling hands._

_“Love, you need to rest-”_

_“You_ must _flee from Britain,” his rough voice cracked in odd places, but it did not stop Abraxas from looking just as fierce and as stern as ever. “Lucius, that careless boy, never listened to my warnings and cautions about going too deep under the service of that Dark Wizard.” Abraxas was talking about Voldemort, of course. “He will end our family if you all stay! Go to our Gourdon Estate and activate our protective Runes by using Muggle blood as a sacrifice-” another cough “and remain there until you’re all safe.”_

_“Papi, the Dark Lord would find us, his powers are vast-”_

_“You must do what you can to save your family, Draco” Abraxas hissed. More coughing. “Haven’t I taught you enough? He’ll be the downfall of our family! You are not apt to kill a wizard of Dumbledore’s calibre. This is a clear sign that you should hide, whichever way may be. You_ have _to try,” Abraxas commanded harshly. Even on his deathbed, he seemed to dominate the room. “Take my Alcyone and keep her safe for me, my boy.”_

_“Papi, it is too risky.”_

_Draco looked back to his weeping mother and grandmother. He knew Narcissa was desperate because of his mission; Abraxas’ worsening condition, Lucius’ imprisonment, and Draco’s life at stake was also taking a toll on Alcyone. Draco noticed how her face had many more wrinkles now._

_“Maybe… Draco, maybe we can escape. Think about it,” Narcissa pleaded._

_“By the time he notices you are missing, we’ll be long gone and safely protected on the Gourdon Estate!” Alcyone said with a clipped tone despite her tear-streaked face._

_“And what if the Dark Mark leads him to us there, trapped together like a bunch of rats?” Draco growled, finally losing his composure. “We have a chance of thriving by his side. I_ have _to do this! My father always said that at some point I’d have to do whatever it took to guarantee our family’s safety, and that’s what I’m going to do,” Draco gestured impatiently, mentally cursing himself when he saw how his hands were trembling. “I’ll make him proud. I’ll save our family.” Neither Narcissa nor Alcyone seemed reassured by Draco’s words. To smooth things over, Draco decided to put on his bravest façade and declare, confidently: “I’ll do whatever I can to accomplish the mission. We’ll fall back in the Dark Lord’s graces soon, Maman and Mamie.”_

_“You foolish, foolish boy-” Abraxas groused, shaking both from anger and weakness. His white hair was clinging to his forehead, the rest of his long length contained in a loose strip of silk. On his hand, the Malfoy Pater signet was spattered with coughed blood. “You’re too young and too blind to see your own-” Another coughing fit wracked Abraxas’ body. His face was contorted in pain, but Draco could see the deep sadness on every wrinkle on Abraxas’ face; the ashen colour that tainted his past flawless complexion._

_Abraxas never believed another person should be completely trusted with their family’s fate after what happened to Grindelwald. It was too high a bet, to trust all they’ve got into one powerful wizard. Draco knew they had supported Grindelwad’s ideals, but never as publicly as Lucius had done with Voldemort. Their first Malfoy law was to never leave traces that’d lead back to them. Draco saw his Papi’s health deteriorate rapidly as soon as Lucius went to Azkaban._

_Draco could see the distress in Abraxas’ eyes. “Everything will be alright, Papi, don't you worry,” Draco felt the need to reassure the old man._

_Abraxas shook his head, staring sadly at his grandson. “He’ll be the end of us, Draco. See sense, my boy,” Abraxas urged._

_Draco opened his mouth to answer, but it never came out. A silky laugh echoed in the room, but the one laughing was nowhere to be seen. Something in it seemed familiar to Draco._

_“Lucius-” Abraxas gasped, his eyes widening after hearing that laughter. “My son- my Alcyone, dear, I love bot-” Then, Abraxas’ eyes rolled back in his skull. Draco saw the tattoos on Abraxas’ body become black – only the drawings on his neck and arms could be seen, but it was as if they were being filled with ink. With a sickening snap of bones, Abraxas’ body began to contort. They all backed away from the bed a second before blood spattered everywhere. Petunias, monkshoods, and dark purple hyacinths split open his skin and sprouted. None of the flowers had a bright colour nor did they look beautiful. They came out all decayed, but the stems and vines underneath opened the path for them to rise. The stench of death filled Draco’s nostrils. Everyone was screaming._

_Draco looked away, not wanting to see the rest, his hands placed firmly on his mouth. He didn’t know if it was to contain his sickness or his screams, but it did neither. Draco sunk to his knees against the wall._

_~~_

Every time Draco remembered his Papi’s or his Grand-père’s deaths – and the look on his father’s face as he took Draco away from Dominus’ mangled body –, a chill never failed to run down his spine. Plus, the feeling of being observed only intensified in those moments.

“It’s a miracle our family name hasn't died out like the Gaunts and the Blacks,” Draco murmured in a sad tone, “I wish my father had listened to Papi. Maybe everything would’ve turned out for the better in the end.”

“Indeed,” Theo agreed somberly. “I feel the same way.”

“And maybe I’d have had more time to live than I seem to now,” Draco exhaled a long sigh. “I just wanted everything to be normal. To have Dumbledore alive and acting again as Headmaster, even though I still think he was becoming senile. No Basilisk nor Sorcerer's Stone. Cedric would still be alive. No Dark Wizard to follow around and to obey his every bidding.” Draco mused. “Just ordinary school years and none of that bullshit.”

Draco was tired just from thinking about so many years that could have been enjoyed better. _Enough about me, now._ “How’s therapy going, T?” he asked.

“Bloody spectacular,” the brunette said sarcastically, mimicking Draco’s position. “It didn’t change anything.” Theo faced the sky, chewing on the inside of his own cheek. “I still see him die over and over and over,” Theo told them in a monotone, looking even more exhausted. “Keep thinking I should’ve done something drastic. Hexed him and _Eomma_ senseless or sneaked a droplet from any of those vials father kept locked in his Potion lab in their drink. Something... _anything_ at all.”

“T, your father was a skilled Death Eater,” Pansy tried to reason with the brown-haired boy. “He would have discovered you and probably punished you for that.”

“He was never soft…” Theo mused, then looked to Draco from the corner of his pretty brown eyes. “I always envied you for that. Lucius was the one who looked harsh, but it was my father who raised his wand to punish his own son.”

Draco grimaced. “I don't even know what to say to you…”

“No need.” Two beats passed before Theodore spoke again. “Sometimes I feel grateful that he crossed Macmillan’s path…” Draco saw the tears coming out and trickling down his friend’s cheeks, the tear-tracks connecting some of the moles he had on his left side, under the eye, and close to his mouth and chin. Draco saw Pansy and Blaise fidget, as lost as he was on how to comfort Theo. “But sometimes I just wish he had never come to the Battle, or never answered You-Know-Who’s call.” They all remained silent while Theo poured his heart out and alleviated some of his burdens. “Father did horrible things and he’ll never have to answer for each and every one of them; instead, I’m the one people are pointing at, whispering about and fucking _harassing_.”

Draco mindlessly played with a blade of grass that the breeze blew onto his foot.

“I don’t even think that all would be better if You-Know-Who had won the Second Wizarding War,” the brunette pointed out, laughing humourlessly. “There would be Muggle-borns and half-bloods in our cellars, and they’d be screaming their heads off 24/7,” Theo emphasised. “After they brought some Hufflepuffs to torture in our cellar for information on Dean Thomas’ whereabouts, I couldn’t see them like _that_ , as if they were _mud_ under my boots.” Theo shook his head, his almond-shaped eyes wide open and tears running freely. “I could never see them like that.”

“I know now how you felt. And to think you’d tried all those years to make us stop buggering the Muggle-borns...maybe we’d not be harassed like we are nowadays if we had listened to you, T.” Draco uttered those words as if they physically hurt them, even to his best friends... _No one likes to be wrong._ “I can’t look at them like that anymore, and frankly... That frightens me more than the nightmares or the backlash.” Draco had felt the same, after seeing Granger, Weasley, and Potter in the Manor’s dungeon. “That insufferable know-it-all had driven me up the wall for so many years, but when I saw Aunt Bella torturing her…” he gulped. “Couldn’t detach her from the girl I saw in the corridors…” _Actually…_ If Draco was being honest with himself, there was someone else who had made him unsettled by all that Muggle-born hate before Granger’s torture under his own roof. She was the one responsible for Draco stopping his use of the word ‘mudblood’. _She_ was the one who made him drop it way before his friends ever did, and now he was the only one in his group who didn’t struggle to remember the politically correct term. _Shit, I haven’t seen her yet this year._

“The funny thing is,” Blaise began, attracting Draco’s attention towards him. The black-haired young man intertwined his fingers with Pansy’s trembling ones, giving them a gentle squeeze in reassurance. She was as pale as a ghost, which made Blaise frown slightly in puzzlement. None of them would’ve thought she’d be affected by all that violence like that since she was much more vocal and aggressive towards Muggle-borns and their supporters. “Our parents always go on and on about mudb- er, Muggle-borns and how they’re lesser than us, which ends up creating a monstrous picture in our minds, but when we come across one, they look so… normal. So ordinarily normal, like any of us.” Blaise was ranting; Draco knew because the handsome young man always rubbed his neck when he got carried away. Blaise was always cool and collected, but his nerves were revealed in small details. “It always buggered me, how I was told to hate people I was used to seeing at school. People that I had classes with. I’ve always seen myself superior to them, but it never occurred to me they’d be killed right in front of me.”

Pansy sniffed, lowering her head to conceal her teary eyes. “I can’t get Creevey out of my head.”

They did a collective wince. Colin Creevey was an annoying little brat that pestered a lot of people with his camera and overly-cheerful disposition. While they were being escorted back to the dungeons and away from the Battle, Pansy told them she had seen him among the fighters.

“I- I mean… I thought someone would- that Colin would go against Death Eaters, sure, but- but my _mum-_ I’d never thought he’d go against my mum.” All three men stared at her, feeling like their hearts were about to come out of their mouths. They knew why Pansy was distressed. The whole Wizarding World knew, too. “I don’t know how- how- he was tiny, and I can’t stop thinking about how things evolved in the Battle, or- or how he got against her- I mean, bloody hell, he was _tiny_ and _my_ mum- she _killed_ him.”

After the final showdown between Potter and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they had seen the fallen in the Great Hall. Colin Creevey had been laid there, covered in triangle-shaped marks on his body. The Exsanguination Curse was developed during He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s First Rise to power, but nobody knew who was the one behind it until the Battle of Hogwarts. Several fighters, Aurors included, had been killed by that curse after crossing Petra Parkinson’s wand during the Battle, including Colin Creevey. Eyewitnesses had testified that she was the caster of that spell, and it was easy to conclude she had been the one who developed it.

Petra Parkinson had gone missing after almost getting caught at the Battle. She had injured three Aurors that tried to imprison her, then fled from Hogwarts. Her face was portrayed in uncountable wanted posters around Wizarding communities. Many pureblood families had been affected by being known to associate with the Parkinsons, the Malfoys, and many others that were discovered as Death Eaters. Atreus Parkinson had been captured at his mansion to be brought in for interrogation. At first, he seemed innocent; then, a few drops of Veritaserum during his trial at the Wizengamot made Atreus spill how he covered for his wife, helped incarcerate Muggle-borns, _Imperio-ed_ uncountable people, guarded magical dark artefacts and much more. While Petra was the witch in the field, Atreus stayed in the shadows, wearing his Death Eater silver mask to not be recognised. _She_ bore the Dark Mark, but _he_ remained incognito. That had turned out to be an unsuccessful tactic in the long run. Atreus revealed himself as guilty as Petra, while Pansy had been mostly innocent. She appeared on the front covers of many Wizarding publications several times for telling suspicious things she overheard in her house while growing up.

 _‘I heard mum’s Death Eater friends talking during their afternoon tea gathering in the summer of 1995,’_ one could read from the retelling of the Parkinson’s Trials, along with a photo of Pansy sat in a chair, her wrists, ankles, and neck surrounded by tight silver shackles laced with the Magical Annulment Enchantment. ‘ _They were bragging about ‘Petra Parkinson’s trademark Exsanguination Curse’ being mandatory at every attack planned or it wouldn’t be half as fun.’_

Pansy was left almost penniless after that. The Fairview, Parkinson’s family mansion, had been locked down by the Ministry of Magic and their Gringotts vaults had been mostly frozen. Pansy, like most purebloods, – Blaise, Theo, and Draco included – now had to ask the Ministry’s permission to access their vaults, whatever amount it might be.

As much as the other houses would claim the Slytherins were pure evil, most of them had never stopped to think what their parents were really up to. Many Slytherins spoke of how desensitising it was to read about the murders, disappearances and the havoc their parents and family members had caused during the Dark Lord’s First Rise and the Second. It did not feel real; it felt mostly like reading about historical events. They were all lost in the aftermath of their families’ deeds, not knowing what to do.

“It’s quite different, reading about the First Rise and everything that happened and _seeing_ with your own eyes the events unfold,” Blaise said quietly, squeezing Pansy’s cold fingers in a gesture of support.

Pansy nodded at him. “I still can’t fathom how she could have raised a wand to do that to a kid like Creevey, when I can remember her singing in the kitchen, or coming from the garden covered in mud and getting it all on dad’s freshly-pressed clothes. I can’t put the two things together: the loving woman and the murderer...”

The men nodded.

“That’s why I think it’s unfair what the others are doing to us,” Theo said. “We never had a clear notion of what our parents were doing, but we still have to pay for their actions.”

“You’ve got a good point there, T.” Blaise concurred. “But I’ve had plenty of time to sort things out. You know what gets my blood running cold?” The other Slytherins stared at him with frowns on their faces, waiting for him to continue. “Isn’t that what we did to the Muggle-borns? Made them pay for the Prosecution when they’ve never even lifted a pitchfork themselves?”

Draco felt his heart hammering against his ribs; guilt squeezed his heart – and it seemed he wasn’t the only one shook by that idea –, but he decided on a scorning approach. “You can’t be serious… You’re actually pulling the ‘this is your fault’ card on us, Bee?”

“Knock it off, _Dray_ ,” Blaise sassed back. “And yes.”

“That’s it. Our friendship ends here.”

Theo shook his head in amusement, rubbing his sleeve on his face.

“This is just you advocating against us, Blaise,” said Pansy. “Can’t believe you’re actually on their side rather than ours.”

“That’s what Blaise and I always told you two about,” Theo seethed. “To not do or say anything against Muggle-borns and half-bloods! I can’t even count out the times I had to _lecture_ your arses about how bullying could affect us later, but I remember being brushed off like a fly!”

“But they were strutting around as if they owned the place!” Pansy argued back.

“Pans! Quit that mentality! I am aware it pains you to hear that, but don’t you think this is just you being immature?” Blaise spoke through his teeth, letting go of her hand. “I’ve been told my whole life they’re lesser than us, and yet no pureblood in this century could match _Harry Potter’s_ level of power.” Blaise started to gesticulate with his hands, the motions more a way to emphasise his words than a display of his frustration. Only true friends would know that. “Couldn’t match _bloody You-Know-Who’s powers_ , who was a _half-blood_ himself _,_ for Salazar’s beard, but the Pureblood Society decided to conveniently forget that?”

During the year of confinement most of them had endured, as the Wizarding World started to rebuild everything – Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, the Ministry – Rita Skeeter had no time to lose. She dug up everything she could on the Riddle family after many witnesses had heard Harry Potter calling him by that name at the Battle.

_‘You can’t touch them. You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?’_

‘You dare-’

_‘Yes, I dare,’ said Harry, ‘I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?’_

Skeeter had published a book on October 15, 1998 called _Tom Riddle: The Ascension of a Fraud_ . It was an international scandal. A Dark Wizard vouching for wizarding dominance over Muggles and parading pureblood supremacy, when in fact he himself had a pureblood mother and a _Muggle_ father? Many pureblood Death Eaters had gone mad. Draco’s days in Azkaban had rewarded him the ‘privileged’ front row seat to their screams and curses.

It was a relief to have no Dementors in the prison anymore. Aurors patrolled the facility, instead. Draco had shackles that bound a person’s core with an ancient and powerful Magical Annulment Enchantment. Any magic in Draco’s blood had vanished, leaving him feeling disoriented and weak. As it was as ancient as Draco’s own Curse, the enchantment had dulled the Benedictus effects, but not cancelled them completely. During those months, he had never seen a twitch on his otherwise magical tattoo. It seemed like a regular Muggle one, which had surprisingly bothered him. Lucius and Narcissa had been imprisoned side by side in the two cells that faced Draco’s. The cell on Draco’s right was Alcyone’s. That Annulment came as a twisted blessing since it slowed Draco’s and Lucius’ Curses. It had allowed Lucius to heal and recover from months of torture at the hands of the Dark Lord along with the debilitating effects of the Benedictus.

“While I was there, in Azkaban, we had to endure some bloody Aurors reading out loud from Skeeter’s book.” Draco told them, to which his friends looked back at him in sympathy.

It would have been completely dismissed, that book, because everybody knew Skeeter’s sensationalistic tendencies. _However_ , Obscurus Books and many other publishers had published books with more details they had dug up about the Riddles. When there were this many reliable sources, it became clear the Death Eaters had been following a fraud the whole time.

Draco continued: “The Aurors were _delighted_. Papa laid down and remained silent for weeks after that; listening in shock to the Aurors reading those books, page by page, every single day. Merlin…”

Abraxas had cautioned them about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named being the cause of their downfall, but Lucius had been too blinded by a possibility of power – and later, fear of the Dark Lord’s rage – to back down; Draco too, but by desperation. Together, father and son had dragged Narcissa and Alcyone down with them. The only one that had come to their rescue was Potter.

“Those fucking books… _Eomma_ complained about them when I was finally allowed to visit her before coming to Hogwarts again,” sniffed Theo. An Jimin, a South-Korean pureblood witch well-versed in the Dark Arts, was Theo’s mother. Jimin had been incarcerated in Azkaban after getting caught at the Battle of Hogwarts. _I’ve heard her crying and screaming Cantankerous Nott’s name so many times while I was there,_ Draco thought but said nothing. “She seemed so out of it. I’ve never seen her angry like that.”

“Well… who wouldn't? They practically gave their lives and reputations to _his_ cause.” Pansy huffed, rubbing at her face angrily. “I’m still missing mum, but… Gosh, that’s so complicated, I don’t know how to deal with that shit.”

Blaise nodded. From The Fairview's – the Parkinson’s family mansion – basement, many artefacts containing the Zabini family crest had been confiscated. For that, Adalina Zabini had been incarcerated too, but for possessing dark magical artefacts. That earned Blaise an Admonitor, the loss of the Zabini mansion _–Il Pittoresco –_ , and frozen Gringotts vaults, too. Some people were more fucked than others, but there was no doubt: they were all screwed.

“No pureblood did what they dared to do,” Blaise pointed out, but he clearly wasn’t happy about admitting that. “I have my pride, but I can’t deny evidence when it’s right in front of my face: we’ve been misjudging them all along. We are not heightening our powers by marrying purebloods. We’re getting weaker.”

It was a blow to the chest, listening to Blaise’s words. It was against everything they had ever heard throughout their lives and yet… _Potter, Dumbledore… All powerful wizards. Granger, too._ Draco swallowed, looking at his friends with a grimace. “And Potter hunting down those wizards…”

“I was afraid he’d get my mum in a coffin rather than Azkaban,” Pansy murmured. “She must be really good at hiding if she got away from his squad.”

“Every time I saw him on the cover of the Prophet, in those photos they’d got of him in the field, it would make me shiver. He looked furious,” said Blaise. “And his magic…”

Draco had had his hands on a journal only after he had been released from his cell. By then, he had seen only a few articles and photos, mostly talking about how the Saviour would become a fierce Auror after he graduated Hogwarts and went through Auror Training. Some articles were about him at the trials, and a few about Potter’s astonishing displays of magic. Draco and the whole Wizarding World was impressed by the raw power Potter was displaying after the final Battle. He himself had the opportunity to sense his magic after getting rescued from the Sticking Charm that held him up to the ceiling. _So distracting_ , Draco recalled. The sole memory of Potter’s magic surrounding him like a warm blanket made Draco’s hairs stand on end.

Draco remembered looking at Potter throughout his own Trial, hanging on his every word like a lifeline. Harry Potter, with his straight disheveled hair and his green eyes, looked fearsome. He had also looked worn out. When Potter disappeared, there were only journalists talking more about past things, since anything with his name on it would sell.

Just as Pansy was opening her mouth to say something, probably a retort to Blaise's insulting words against purity of blood, they heard a flap of wings followed by an explosion above their heads. _“Protego!”_

All four Slytherins looked up; a strong protection shielded them as if it was a translucent wall. That allowed them a clear view of what had exploded: a dung bomb carried out by a conjured bird that vanished with a _pop!_

The caster of the protective spell was just a few metres away from the Slytherins. Sitting under a tree and reading a thick Herbology book was a round-faced, tall, chubby, blond-haired boy. Neville Longbottom. He had his wand raised in their direction, clearly protecting the Slytherins from another prank. Longbottom had appeared without any of them noticing him there, but within distance to do something if needed. Longbottom got rid of the mess and went back to his book as if nothing had happened.

“Potatobottom has gotten good at spells, huh?” said Pansy, looking quite impressed.

Draco caught the way Theo was looking at Longbottom. His face betrayed nothing, but his light-brown eyes twinkled in a telling way. Draco nudged Blaise, exchanging knowing looks with him when he turned.

\--

“Hey, Myrtle.”

After hearing her name, the ghost turned with a bright smile, recognising Draco’s voice.

“You came, Draco!” Moaning Myrtle said sweetly to him, gliding closer to Draco with her translucent arms open. Draco did the same, and a shiver ran up his spine with the strange sensation he feels while ‘hugging’ her – as if he had plunged into ice-cold water. “I thought you had forgotten about me.”

“I would never, Myrtle,” the blond reassured her, smiling at her excitement after hearing his words, “I apologise for not coming earlier. There are so many things going on at the same time, that my life has descended into a new level of chaos.”

“Oh, yes,” Myrtle pouted, her face scrunching up in a sympathetic expression, “I’ve heard about it. The Fat Friar came to talk with me and he told me how other students were treating you and your friends.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Quite sad, what’s happening to you, Draco. I don’t think that’s fair at all.”

“Well,” Draco resolved to make himself at home, sitting against one of the sinks. His shoulders slumped. Being constantly on alert for anything harmful that might come from other students was taking a toll on him; he was mentally exhausted and physically drained. “I can’t blame them for trying to make me feel as miserable as I made some of them feel those past years.”

“Justified bullying doesn’t exist!” Myrtle snaps. _Short-tempered as always_ …

“You’re right, it does not…”

They were silent for a few minutes. Myrtle came to ‘sit’ beside him, hugging her legs against her chest. Gently, she said “You don’t believe in that, do you? Justified harassment, that is.”

“I do,” Draco answered her, leaning his back against the sink and rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. “My whole family is destined to suffer from past karma, Myrtle. Why would it be different with me? How could they treat me differently, after all I have said and done?”

“People suffer, but it gives them no right to impose suffering on others, Draco.”

Draco looked at her pimpled face, at the blue eyes behind thick glasses. _Myrtle Warren_ had been his turning point on Muggle-borns. She reminds him of Granger, and of what Granger’s destiny would’ve been if she had indeed “been the next” on the Heir of Slytherin’s killing list. Myrtle had helped him when he was at his lowest, and had listened to his fears and insecurities even though he had been a bully in the past. Draco’s actions had surely reminded Myrtle of her own tormentors. She also knew Draco was trying to accomplish a mission delivered by the person responsible for her death. All those things would’ve been enough for Myrtle to hate and ignore him; instead, she had been _kind_ to him throughout his sixth and seventh years.

“Nietzsche once said that ‘living _is_ suffering, but surviving is finding _meaning_ in that same suffering’. You can’t just give up and think there’s no hope for you.”

“Niche?” Draco looked at her, confused.

“ _Nietzsche_ ,” Myrtle corrected him with a laugh. “He’s a Muggle philosopher.”

Draco hummed in understanding, “That's why I don’t know about him, then. He seems wise, though.”

“He was. Well, _I_ think he was, at least. My mum thought so too; she did many essays about his beliefs, so that’s how I know of him.”

“Good for me,” he said good-humouredly. “That way I can receive much profound and life-changing advice on how to deal with my crappy life!”

Myrtle laughed, saying “I wasn’t sorted into Ravenclaw for nothing, y’know?”

“Indeed.”

“So,” Myrtle said, pulling at a lock of her translucent hair, “I’ve also heard someone’s been nice to you.”

“Wow, you’ve been gossiping _a lot_ about me with other ghosts, huh?”

“Nah, I haven’t asked about _that_ ,” she explained to him, “I just happened to overhear Sir Nicholas talking to the Grey Lady near my bathroom. Sir Nicholas was saying how strange it was seeing you and Harry Potter not fighting in the hallways. Oh- and that he missed taking the piss over the Baron about Quidditch since you decided to quit.”

Draco tutted, rolling his eyes “I figured people would start to gossip about me and Potter being on friendly-terms...” Although he was amused by all that attention, his face fell after her mentioning of Quidditch; Draco lowered his head, his fringe falling over his eyes. “I quit. Indeed.”

“Why?”

“I think Quidditch isn’t that interesting to me anymore…”

“Is there a special reason?”

Draco mulled it over, then shook his head, “Not exactly. I mean… yes, there is,” Draco stammered, caught between his need to talk about Crabbe’s death and his lack of desire to do so. It was still a touchy subject for him. “I just don’t want to talk about it now. I think I’ll- I just can’t, Myrtle. Not now.” Draco decided and was relieved to see understanding in her eyes. “Besides, I don’t feel comfortable on a broom anymore. And the game, all of it, seems kind of pointless. I don’t know how to explain that, Myrtle. My heart doesn’t beat faster when I talk or think about it now.”

“Oh…” she frowned, fidgeting slightly. “I presume you’ve stricken Quidditch off your list of possible careers, then?”

“Yes… I don’t know if the need to fly will come back, but for now, I prefer being on the ground…”

“Alright,” Myrtle said quietly, with an unsure smile. “At least there’s Potions Master and singing, right?”

Draco nodded once, looking quite despondent about his career prospects. He looked at her and could see how Myrtle was searching for the right thing to say to break the heavy atmosphere that fell around them. After some time, she must have found it, as she turned to him, wiggling her eyebrows and talking in a very knowing tone: “You and Harry… friends at last, huh?” She let out a high giggle that echoed throughout the empty bathroom. “So _close_ that he’s sleeping in your bed!

“I-It's not like that-”

“I remember you saying _how much_ you wanted to ask for his help during your sixth year, Draco. I know how much it _pained_ you to not have his friendship nor his _love_ ,” she screeched in delight, making Draco look around desperately at the possibility of somebody lurking around and overhearing her words, all while waving his hands to try and shut Myrtle up. “How sometimes you couldn’t sleep, thinking over all the ‘what if’s’. _I remember it all_.”

“Shh!” Draco flailed his arms, attempting to put his hands over her mouth and toppling forward, passing right through her. “ _Bollocks-_ I’ve confided that to you, so just- don’t say it out loud, Myrtle!”

“No one comes here, except you.”

Draco felt his chest tightening. He sustained his weight on his arms as he pulled himself from the floor. He adjusted himself against the sink, sitting properly and crossing his legs, before looking at her. “And I promise I’ll always visit you, no matter what.”

“You better, or I’ll haunt your arse to death.”

That made him smile at her, nodding his head slowly. “And I believe you.” Draco looked around without real interest, then continued their conversation. “We got closer, yes. We agreed on a ‘truce’ and, uh, he’s been helping me sleep ever since I had a panic attack in front of everybody,” his lips curled in a grimace. “Everyone saw me have a meltdown over some blood. The good thing is: at least he doesn’t bother me much and I do sleep better with his presence. His magic is _intense_ , Myrtle.”

Myrtle leaned closer to Draco, clearly excited beyond her wits, “Tell me everything!”

\--

The weekend passed peacefully. Draco spent the rest of the afternoon telling Myrtle about everything he went through: living under the same roof as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, his ownership of the infamous Elder Wand, his time in the newly-reformed Azkaban, and his new ‘relationship’ with Potter. Hours later, he went back to Merlin Tower, where Pansy and Theo set their minds to doing Draco’s and Blaise’s nails while a Hufflepuff girl from the D.A. remained nearby, talking to her friend. Both girls kept looking around for anything or anyone that looked like a threat to the Slytherins, so all of them relaxed with the extra pair of eyes looking after them.

They were not the only ones. Pairs or trios of people kept close to other groups of Slytherins. Draco imagined some of them were not thrilled about it, but they found a way to socialise and chill with their respective friends while helping the D.A. control the bullying.

Both nights, Draco snuck up in Blaise’s bed. Theo laid against the bedpost on Blaise’s bed but ended up passing out from exhaustion. Blaise had remained awake with Draco for as long as he could, but as always the blond alone remained sleepless. At least the company helped him relax.

On Monday, Draco saw Potter coming from a different part of the castle, where he presumed the Ravenclaw Tower was located. A bunch of first and second years were following him around like puppies, adoration clear as crystal in their eyes. _Right, he’s also helping them during the night_ , Draco thought sullenly. Pansy saw his slight pout and started to tease him.

Even though he was occupied with the children, Potter had quickly knocked over three Gryffindors that tried to hex Draco from behind. “Morning,” Potter chirped while passing Draco to get to the Eighth-year table.

“Morning…” he couldn’t help but mumble back a response, blushing. He could already feel a tiny flower sprouting somewhere. _Merlin!_

\--

During Defence Against the Dark Arts, while they learned counterspells for more obscure spells and hexes, some people attempted gluing Draco’s shoes to the floor. When he stumbled, Potter caught him without batting an eye. Draco had been aware of him sitting closer to his group, but didn’t think Potter had been paying him any attention while the class was going on. Draco mumbled a “Thanks” to him and they focussed back on the Professor.

“To break those enchantments or to perform their counterspell correctly, one has to know how to cast it first. With that said, all of you must gather in pairs and practice what I taught you, class!” Professor Kowalski commanded a while later, but just as the students started to rearrange the tables and chairs to clear the centre of the classroom, she warned: “Do not harm each other. This is not a Duelling class! If I see any of you engaging in serious combat, I’ll take a hundred points from each house.”

Even with the warning, the students who participated in the D.A. seemed to seek out the Slytherins to prevent fights. _Funny, how one can commit to doing something one clearly does not like._

“Want to pair up?” Theo asked at the same moment Potter came from behind him and said “I’m alone.”

“Uh,” Draco looked from one boy to the other, not knowing if it would be rude of him to go with Potter and abandon Theo.

“Hey,” Longbottom approached too, making Theo’s lips part slightly in surprise. Draco, however, only got a quick nod of recognition from Longbottom; his eyes were locked on Theo, his face reddening. “Want to do it together?”

Potter’s eyebrows went right up, but he said nothing. Draco blinked several times, then returned his eyes to Potter. A rosy colour was spreading at the back of Theo’s neck and up to his ears. Draco bit his tongue to prevent him from saying anything that would make Theo kick him later.

Theo cleared his throat discreetly. “Sure,” he said, nodding his head dumbly.

“Alright!” Longbottom seemed to brighten up.

 _Oh, your babies will be something else, T. They’ll have almond-shaped eyes and be the most klutzy purebloods to walk on this earth_ , Draco thought teasingly while suppressing a laugh. Potter, however, did not. He snickered behind Longbottom’s and Theo’s backs while they placed themselves at the other side of the room. When Draco looked at Potter to respond, he became quite distracted by Potter biting his lower lip to muffle his laugh.

“So, you want to pair up?” Those lips spoke in a gentle rhythm. “I think it’s better than you being with someone else and risking getting hexed.” 

Potter’s lips were healed from Draco’s accidental head bump, but some tiny splits could be seen here and there that indicated Potter constantly chewed on his lips – but Draco already knew that. He always noticed how Potter mindlessly bit at his lower lip while thinking about something. Sometimes, Draco would catch him biting at his upper lip, which made Potter’s face look funny. _Upper lip-biting was for nervous moments, perhaps?_ Draco couldn’t be sure.

“Malfoy? Do you want to partner up or not?”

The way those thin lips formed the ‘oy’ was always so… _attractive_ . Potter certainly could not speak French, but Draco started to wonder: _How would it sound, my name on your lips, if I taught you how to say it with a French accent?_ Certainly would be interesting. He remembered how Potter’s voice came out soft when he spoke that language – _It sounded like Portuguese… Yes, it was Portuguese. I remember my mother telling me what she knew of the Potters’ lineage connected to pureblood Brazilian families._ His voice seemed deeper with the thick English accent, while his Portuguese voice sounded way softer.

“ _Eita porra…_ ”

There. Right there. That accent. So soft, with an open ‘a’, rather than the schwa in English. _He might sound like that while speaking French…_

 _“Olha só… Acho que isso seria um sim?”_ Potter asked, raising one eyebrow while looking at Draco. The questioning tone caught Draco’s attention and stopped his mind from wandering. “Is it?”

“...what?”

“A ‘yes’?” Draco kept staring at him, completely clueless. “About pairing up to do the lesson,” Potter clarified, looking bemusedly at Draco.

“Yes? _Ahem_ \- yes.”

“Fascinating. And this is for me, I presume?” Potter’s hand raised to his face and plucked something from Draco’s cheek with a smug expression. “This way you’ll get me spoiled rotten, Malfoy, giving me flowers every time I do something. It’s a good incentive to make me do more things for you, though, so there’s no need to stop, mind you.”

Draco stared, in horror, at Potter holding a _big, bright, multicoloured_ Heartsease. The flower had three yellow petals at the front and two big purple ones behind it. In floriography, it meant ‘ _you occupy my thoughts’. Oh, nononono. Where the bloody hell are you going with that flower?_

Potter positioned himself at a good distance from Draco and aimed his wand at the blond. Draco couldn’t simply let him go with that. The first time Potter plucked a flower from his skin he had been caught so off guard that he had no reaction. Now, though, Draco had to find a way to retrieve that _blasted_ thing away from Potter’s hands. That was proof of his feelings, and Draco didn’t want Potter walking around with that blatant ‘I fancy you’ symbol all over the school. _What if someone got their hands on that book? There would be more gossiping… What if Potter got a hold of that book? NO!_ Right before they started to practice the spells for Professor Kowalski to see what they had learned, Potter put the flower behind _his_ ear.

_Oh. My. Merlin. POTTER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_

Two things happened in that class. One: Draco had his own ass handed to him on a silver platter, as Potter had successfully landed every spell on Draco. That was the proof the blond could not, indeed, clear his mind from the fact that _Potter has one of my flowers behind his ear, for Salazar’s BEARD._ At every one of his attempts to clear his mind and focus on counterspells, his eyes would land on the yellow and purple flower and distract him. _You insufferable git! Stop being- being-_ **_adorable_ ** _right the bloody now._

And two: by the time class ended, Draco was covered in Heartseases; from his arms to his face, to the roots of his hair, big Heartseases sprouted from his skin. When he walked out of the classroom, his friends were shamelessly cackling at his expense. They _knew_ what those flowers meant. Potter seemed thoroughly amused at Draco’s lack of attention, though, which was both cute and infuriating.

“I guess I really made you happy, huh?” Potter said smugly.

 _Don’t smile at me like that or I’ll smack you with a book!_ Draco thought, but ended up just rolling his eyes in a ‘don’t be silly’ manner since all words seemed stuck in his throat.

“Alright, everyone. You did good for today, thank you!” Professor Kowalski said cheerfully, dismissing them from the class.

Just as Potter was exiting the room in front of him, Draco panicked. _Quick, quick, DO SOMETHING!_ Draco Vanished that flower. He looked to the side, just to check if he was seen, and blanched at Granger’s very knowing smile. _Shit..._

“You-” Potter had begun to say.

“WegottagodothingsbeforePotionsbye!” Draco said in one breath, closing his hands on Blaise’s and Pansy’s wrists, dragging them along before Potter could say something else or notice the flower had vanished.

Draco hurried away to the dungeons, where they would have Potions, like hellhounds were biting at his heels. The whole way there, Pansy and Blaise made sure to pick up from the floor every flower that had fallen from Draco’s skin and stuff them in their pockets. Only after they had reached the classroom, they noticed Theo was left behind. Twenty minutes later, after Draco had calmed himself enough to reduce the shedding, he let out a relieved sigh. Theo was blushing to an impossible shade of red, which prompted lots of prodding and teasing from Blaise. That distracted Pansy, which in turn allowed Draco some peace before Potions began. When Potter entered the classroom, Draco immediately hunched over his books and pretended to be occupied.

**

By nighttime, Draco had a beautiful vase on his nightstand, courtesy of those three idiots he called friends. In beautiful calligraphy, written on the vase in bright letters, was: _This is the living proof Draco Malfoy wants to shag Harry Potter._ Draco made all the boys in his room scarce when he smashed the vase on the wall with a deafening screech. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Portuguese to English in this chapter:  
> Eita porra - Blimey.  
> Olha só... Acho que isso seria um sim? - Whoa... I take this is a 'yes'?

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone curious about the flowers meanings, I’m taking them from this [site](http://www.allflorists.co.uk/advice_flowerMeanings.asp)! I also got some things that happen in Hogwarts from [this](https://hiddenhogwarts.tumblr.com/post/171570057792/harry-potter-mental-health-headcanons) post.  
> Some chapters' titles are from songs of Harry Styles.  
> Also, if you want to leave a non-english comment, you are free to do it! I'll read them all (with some help from google translator, depending on the language), so no need to be shy ;)


End file.
